


The Charlie Effect

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nerd sex, Sorry Not Sorry, character-typical racism, if you're looking for long awkward courtships then this is the fic for you, whoops I gave the science bitch a name that's not from Pacific Rim/Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: The science bitch proposes a new experiment, one that involves studying Charlie up close and personal for an extended length of time. However, his subject has an infectious personality and it becomes hard to remain objective. Will science triumph or will he fall prey to the Charlie effect?





	1. Charlie and the Science Bitch get weird

“Look, you expect me to trust you after that fias-fies-fiesta from last time? I took your damn smart pills and all they did was make me act like a jerk.”

“If you’ll recall, Mr. Kelly, you did that entirely on your own while suffering from the placebo effect.” The scientist shifted slightly in his seat on the park bench, offering another pretzel. Charlie pretended to be nonchalant about the offer, looking innocently up at the fountain as he attempted to snatch a pretzel without looking. It took him six tries and he wound up ripping the bag. The scientist watched it all with a slight half-smile.

“I understand your trepidation, Mr. Kelly.”

“Charlie, please. Mr. Kelly is my creepy tinyhands uncle.”

“Ah. I understand your trepidation Charles. Perhaps you felt humiliated at our—very necessary—deception.”

“Dude, I'm not pissed that you lied to me, that happens all the time. But you called a science party together so you could laugh at me.”

“The so-called ‘science party’ you saw was a gathering of my colleagues, and if I recall correctly the only laughter in the room was you and your friends. If it would help assuage your fears, I gained no further funding for that experiment and it was concluded. What I propose to you today is a horse of a different color.”

Charlie did the slow rolling blink he used when he got a migraine. “Dude, speak english.”

“I’d like to pay you for a long-term case study.”

“What, are you gonna feed me weird shit or put stuff up my butt or make me live in a giant rat maze?”

The scientist blinked. “...no, I assure you no. Not only is that highly unethical...just no.”

“Oh, okay. So what do I have to do?”

“Just be yourself.” The scientist leaned forward. “We will observe you in your day-to-day life. I will be doing the bulk of the data gathering this time round. Tang-see will be responsible for organizing my observations back in the lab.”

A frown twisted the corner of Charlie’s mouth. “Dude...it’s gonna get weird with you hanging over me every second of the day. I don’t think I need to tell you, I'm already plenty weird.”

“Have no fear of self-consciousness, my dear boy. I want to observe your behavior in its truest form, go as close as I can without sticking cameras in your apartment.”

“My friend Dennis could probably help you with that if you change your mind.”

The scientist’s already thin mouth flattened out. “...interesting. Well, if you’d care to sign here and here, we can begin our study.”

Charlie looked apprehensively at the other man. “...okay dude. Just so long as you promise it won’t get too weird.”

“Of course.”

**_♫Charlie and the science bitch get weird♫_ **

“—look I'm telling you, we can’t _not_ afford to make _Lethal Weapon 7!”_ Mac was wiping down a glass that had been clean when he started and was becoming steadily more foggy from the bar rag.

“I’m not doing it until you agree that I should be Murtaugh.”

“Dude, I've got the makeup down, I told you. There’s this waterproof leg makeup—”

“My issue was not the damn makeup coming _off,_ Mac, it was the makeup going _on_ in the first place. Can we _not_ with the blackface?”

“Hey, you wear a mullet wig. Isn’t that, like, blackface for the entire country of Canada?”

Dennis turned to him. “First off—”

The door swung open, disclosing two new figures. Charlie stumbled over to the bar with feigned nonchalance. “Gang, science bitch. Science bitch, the gang. Can I get a beer?”

“Who, whoa, whoa.” Mac and Dennis pointed to the interloper, who held up a clipboard and steadily scribbled away with notes. “Didn’t this guy take a public dump on you the last time we saw him?”

Charlie reached behind the bar and got his own beer. He looked slightly dyspeptic this morning. “Not liberally.”

“Literally, Charles.”

“Oooh, _Chaaaaahles_.” Dennis came around the bar, doing a pompous little walk. “Aren’t we sharp? Careful, Charlie, he’ll have you drinking with your pinkie finger extended next.”

The scientist gave a wan smile. “Mr. Reynolds, I believe? Charles has already filled me in at length about you all. Please, treat me like a fly on the wall. I’m here merely to observe, not interfere.”

“Really?” Dennis cocked his head in mock interest. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind me observing your observation, as one scientific mind to another.”

The scientist nodded. “As you will, Mr. Reynolds.”

Dee came out of the door marked private. “Hey boners, Frank has—” she stopped in her tracks. “Isn’t that the science bitch?”

The scientist gave a smile that was more like a flat grimace. “Ms. Reynolds, well well. We nearly have the full complement.”

Mac was giving a suspicious ocular patdown of the man. “Charlie, is this science bitch cool now? I won’t have to demonstrate any moves on him?”

“My name, Mr. MacDonald, is Dr. Hyman Gorsky, and I assure you you have nothing to fear from me.”

Charlie let out a beery belch as he said, “dude, he’s paying me a couple thou just to watch me, don’t rough him up.”

Mac squinted. “So...Herman?”

“Hyman.”

“Hymen?” Mac grinned. “I knew you science bitches were usually virgins but you just put it out there like that—”

The scientist gave an acidic chuckle. “What a quick wit. I’m sure I've never heard that one before, _Ronald_.”

Mac shut up.

Dennis had secured an order pad and was now scribbling away with his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Ah, interesting, interesting. Now, what psychological tactics were you planning on employing on Charlie? I for one favor a series of pharmaceutical treatments to knock him down to zero, but I'm sure you’ve already tried that and found it too easy.”

The scientist frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Perhaps later we can swap notes, trade tips. I’ve got a lot on that one.” Dennis pointed with his pen to Mac’s back.

“Dude, he’s probably just drawing tits on that paper,” Charlie said to the scientist with another belch. “Sometimes it’s words but nine times out of ten, titties.”

“Interesting.” Dennis scribbled more on the paper. “Now, what do you make of Charlie’s nymphomania?”

“Dennis, you’re shading her areolas,” Dee snapped, “I can see it from here.”

“Wolverines!” Apropos of nothing, Frank burst out of the door marked ‘private’ with a furry hat, grey face paint, and claw-tipped gloves.

The scientist took it all in. “That’s very...um…” he made a mark on his paper.

 

“So you say you come here every Wednesday?”

“Oh yeah, right after I visit the bar. Sample the bread, squeeze the tomatoes, all that kind of gourmet shit.” Charlie gave a scattered look to the farmer’s market. “Science bitch, are you sure you don’t have any smart pills left? I could use a boost right now.”

“You can call me Dr. Gorsky, Charles, and are you sure you’re behaving naturally and not putting on a show of behavior you think I'll approve?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“It’s just that you have a habit of mirroring whomever is around you at the moment.”

“Um...indubitably.”

“And I know from past observation that the woman you’re stalking takes a path along here every Wednesday afternoon.”

Charlie gave a startled laugh. “What—really? Small world. Must be...mirroring my...syntax.”

Gorsky shook his head and tutted almost fondly. “Mr. Kelly, I said not to alter your behavior to fit my perceived expectations. My observation benefits from viewing you in as raw a state as possible. In short, Charles: you do you.”

Charlie blinked a lot and gave a nervous laugh. “Okay, so...the waitress does go by here because she likes to stop by that flower vendor, and mayyybeee I hang around that cheese stand because I'm like, so addicted to cheese I have intestinal problems.”

“Very good, Charles.” Gorsky scribbled another round of notes. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself while we go over your daily routine?”

Charlie twisted the lapel of his puke-green coat. “Well that’s...I'm pretty damn weird, man, you sure you got time for all that?”

“Of course.”

Charlie sighed. “Welllll….”

**_Later_ **

“...and even thought he might be my dad, I don’t think it’s weird we sleep in the same bed. We sleep ass-to-ass, so it’s probably less bad than it might be.”

Gorsky’s eye had developed an interesting twitch. “Let’s get back to your mother. What was that you said about being an abortion—”

“—survivor, yeah, and I think that might be the reason I don’t think so good. I mean, you try being a smartie when someone tried to jam you in the brain with a coat hanger.”

Gorsky discreetly shook his head and marked another note down.

**_Even later_ **

“... _one man’s screaming, he’s so happy, the other one’s screaming a passionate shout_ ,” Charlie belted out, “—now does that sound like rape to you? It’s clearly not. Those guys have their mind in the gutter, I swear.”

Charlie had been talking nearly nonstop for some time. Gorsky wore  a thousand yard stare and wrote like his hand was the only living part of his body.

**_Even laterer_ **

“...I mean, why even go into the sewers if you’re not going to be naked? I just don’t get it.”

**_Even more laterer_ **

“...what’s the big deal? So my mom fucked a bunch of santas, it’s not like I get this weird killing urge right around Christmas and see that naked elf in my nightmares sometimes...”

**_Laterest_ **

“...and the therapist told me if I got extra skin I'd be just fine, so I was hoping we could look into that later, you know, hook me up with your science connections.” Charlie gave a happy sigh. “Man, that felt good to get out. You know, when I say it out loud it doesn’t sound weird at all. Thanks for doing this, man.”

Gorsky eyed his pages, which had filled with writing that reached microscopic proportions as he ran out of space. He had a slightly shell-shocked look as he glanced, blinking, from the notes to his subject.

“Is that good, or do you want me to do more?”

“No!” Gorsky covered up his vehement exclamation with a smile. “No, I've gotten all I need today, I've just got to go...decompress now.”

“Cool, man, cool. Good session, Dr. Gorky.”

“It’s Gorsky.”

“Aw, screw that.” Charlie was grinning. “Why don’t I call you Hymie?”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“No, its cool dude, I'll catch you later.” Charlie enveloped him in a warm, slightly pungent hug. Gorsky froze, tensing at the unexpected physical contact.

Charlie drew away with a warm smile. “See you, man.”

 

“...the subject is, undoubtedly, plagued by a complex malaise so layered it’s a wonder he’s able to speak coherently.” Gorsky, back in the lab, had poured himself a drink and loosened his tie. He slumped in his seat as he recounted his day into a digital recorder, massaging his eyes with the fingers of his left hand. “He shows symptoms of anxiety, depression, borderline personality disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, oppositional defiance disorder, and—” he leafed through his notes, “one instance of hysterical pregnancy. If he was a television character I would find him far fetched. As it is, he may be the most fascinating psychological case since Sybil. I will continue my observations, but this has been a most fruitful day for gathering intel. Hymie—” he stopped himself, cleared his throat, and went on. “Hyman Gorsky, signing off.”


	2. The science bitch watches Charlie sleep

The scientist  sat on a chair and tapped a pen on his clipboard. Seated directly across from him on the pull-out sofa, Frank Reynolds glowered.

Gorsky straightened up with a brisk smile.  “Mr. Reynolds, I believe we met last time? Don’t worry, Charles already asked that I not, ah—” he consulted his notes “—‘unzip you.’ Not entirely sure what he means by that, but I will try to keep my professional distance. You can call me Dr. Gorsky.” He offered his hand to shake.

Frank did not move. “Gorsky? You a Jew?”

Gorsky retracted his hand, frowning. “Jew _ish_ , yes. Nonpracticing. My family was from Duisburg. Does that serve as a problem?”

Frank snorted like a buffalo. “Jews like to roll up and buy the place out from under you. You trying to buy my Charlie out from under me?”

Gorsky lifted an eyebrow. “Antisemitism aside, _your_ Charlie, as you so quaintly put it, is a fully grown man capable of making his own decisions. May I also say that your concern over our cooperation seems innately self-serving?”

Frank squatted into the fold-out mattress like  human toad. He pointed one stubby finger at the scientist’s face like a bayonet. “I’m warning you, smart guy. Charlie is the heart and soul of our little operation. You cut him out, Imma come down on you.”

Gorsky’s lip curled, but he was spared further verbal combat by Charlie coming back into the room dressed in his careworn long underwear and a shirt with a rearing horse.

“Whoa, whoa, I told you not to scare him off, Frank. He giving you lip, Hymie?”

Gorsky frowned at the familiar nickname. “Nothing I've not gotten used to, Charles. Now please, go about your nightly routine as if I weren’t present.”

“Alright.” Charlie rubbed his hands together. “Ready for nightcrawlers, Frank?”

Frank’s unwavering stare bored into Gorsky’s head. “I ain’t playing it with the science bitch still here.”

“Come on, you love nightcrawlers!”

“Not with an audience, I don’t. Unless he wants to fork over a fifty to see my ass.”

“Frank, you have money, you don’t need a fifty.”

“It’s the principal, Charlie.”

“Now, gentlemen—”

Charlie clapped once, sharply. “Fine. Fuck it, fine. Let’s just get into bed.”

Gorsky sighed and made a mark on his clipboard, which he had thought to bring spare paper for. “I can’t stress enough how this experiment— _goodgod!”_

As he watched, horrified, Charlie huffed a sockful of glue and Frank wolfed down a tin of cat food.

Gorsky took a few tries to reach words again. “This is your _nightly_ routine?”

“Mmm.” Charlie swept his hand across his eyes like a tired toddler. “Nnnnnnight.” He fell over onto the pull out sofa. Gorsky glanced right to find Frank staring at him. Frank poked two fingers at his own eyes, then at Gorsky. Then he fell backwards and was instantly unconscious.

Gorsky sat, blinking in confusion, staring at the sofa like it was the sight of a recent train wreck.

**_♫The science bitch watches Charlie sleep♫_ **

Gorsky checked his watch, made a few marks on the paper, and suppressed a yawn. The coffee flask he’d brought with him(because he knew not to trust the water anywhere in this apartment) was empty and he was only a few hours in. He’d been crisp at the start, but observing the sleeping men had a soporific effect.

Especially Charlie. Oh, especially Charlie.

His fascination with cats was understandable, because the man was very catlike himself. There was even a slight purring sound in his chest as he slept, which was almost endearing until you realized it was likely excess phlegm due to years of working with hazardous substances without proper respiratory equipment.

Gorsky grimaced. Charming thought.

Charlie slept with his mouth slightly open, his eyelashes seeming even longer with his eyes shut. He was, in an odd and gross sort of way, kind of precious. Perhaps that was why he naturally fell to the level of the group’s “heart” as Frank so succinctly put it. His childlike looks and mannerisms triggered some atrophied nurturing instinct in them.

Charlie sucked in a yawn, curling his tongue like a kitten.

Results from the last experiment showed he wasn’t completely unintelligent. Perhaps the dampening of his intelligence was borne from fear of exclusion from the group. They had already demonstrated a crab-bucket mentality. That might also explain Charlie’s vehement change in behavior when his perceived intelligence rose. He finally felt he was in a position where he was no longer victim to the group’s whims. And when deprived of that position in front of them, he quickly sank back to his place as the group dogsbody as a defensive measure. It was quite pathetic.

Gorsky chided himself for injecting personal commentary. He needed to remain objective. The anthropological conceit of “going native” was a looming phantom over his work. The group, from what intel he could gather, had a habit of pulling outsiders in and warping them with their _folie imposée._ Just ask poor Matthew Mara.

Charlie moaned.

Gorsky started, nearly letting the clipboard slip off his lap. He realized he’d spent the last (minute? hour?) in introspection and neglected his note taking. Charlie was beginning to stir, legs attempting to walk through the sheet tangled around them. He moaned again.

Gorsky began fervently jotting notes down. A nocturnal episode would be an item of interest. Perhaps—

Charlie let out a heartbreaking whimper.

Gorsky realized he’d let his mouth fall slightly open and closed it. Charlie’s expressive face had fallen into sorrow so open it was like that of a crying toddler. He made several almost-word sounds through his nose as his legs scrabbled at the empty air.

Intriguing. Perhaps the “Night man” song was an attempt to cope with chronic night terrors? If that was the case then—

Charlie whined.

Perhaps it would be prudent to—

Charlie whimpered.

If he could—

Charlie cried. Gorsky set down the clipboard with a sigh and crept closer. Frank stirred briefly, stopping the scientist in his tracks. Frank’s hand snaked over and nudged Charlie’s shoulder, causing a brief cessation of grief. Charlie started back up again after a moment. Gorsky waited. Frank’s arm remained limp as a garden hose.

Charlie let out a moan that that sounded awfully close to “noooooooooo.”

Gorsky, ready to flinch his hand back at the slightest sign, drew in closer to the restless sleeper. He covered Charlie’s shoulder with his hand. When this did not bring about a sudden wake, he moved it to a stiff petting motion.

Charlie settled almost instantly.

Gorsky watched as his REM dropped from a panicked scattering to a more neutral back-and-forth motion. “There there. It’s alright, dear boy.”

Charlie smacked his lips slightly, rutted deeper into the covers, and lay still.

With a slight smile, Gorsky made his way back to his chair and picked up his clipboard. Then the enormity of what he’d just done hit him and the smile fell off his face.

_**Next morning** _

Unbelieveable. Two showers and he still felt the grime of that apartment on him. Gorsky slid the knot of his tie securely under his chin and examined his part in the mirror.

Several excuses for his interference in the observation had been bubbling through his head ever since he’d woken from his all-too-brief post observation sleep. If the subject had become too agitated and woke from the strength of the night terrors, that would have stopped the observation right then and there, wouldn’t it? Normally Frank would have intervened but for whatever reason he failed to soothe Charles sufficiently. Gorsky stepping in was no different than feeding fostered stork chicks with a hand puppet.

Gorsky grimaced in the mirror. No. No easy excuses. He was disappointed in himself. Discipline must be maintained. The remainder of the experiment must remain as objective as possible. No interference. No chumming around with the subject.

Gorsky triple-locked the door behind himself and set off down the sidewalk. Two blocks to the bus station and then a transfer to the lab. Hopefully Tang-see had some insights on the data gathered thus far. Discussion would help distance him from the subject. Gorsky was so immersed in his own ponderances that he walked right by the green-coated figure not-really-hiding behind a parked car. It took him fifteen seconds to even register the familiar silhouette.

Abruptly, he turned. “Charles?”

Charlie was scratching behind his ear, a sheepish look on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. I got kinda worried when you didn’t stick around for breakfast. I was gonna make you a grilled Charlie, dude.”

Gorsky open and shut his mouth, making his resemblance to a gasping fish even stronger. “I don’t recall giving you my address.”

“Oh it’s cool, dude, I started you a book too.” Charlie brought out a spiral-bound notebook. “It’s not as big as the one I have for the waitress, but we’re just beginning, right?”

Gorsky stared at the book, his mind a panicked blank. “...Charles, I...you...we’re supposed to maintain a professional distance from one another for the duration of the experiment.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still be buds.”

“Yes, actually, that is _exactly_ what that means.” Gorsky shook his head. “Mr. Kelly—”

“Dude.” He slugged Gorsky on the arm. “Call me Charlie. Come on.”

Gorsky looked at him a long moment. “All right. Charlie. I really must discourage you from trying to breach the social barrier. It’s to the detriment of the experiment.”

“Aw come on, it’ll be cool. Just like that movie _What about Bob?”_

Gorsky’s mouth was working as the gears in his brain meshed uselessly. “I really—Mr. Kelly—Charles—Charlie—”

“Where we walkin’ to today, anyway?” Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets and loped along. Gorsky realized his feet had started working automatically so they were moving nearly side-by-side. He wanted to come up with an excuse, but falsehoods had never been his strong suit so he blurted, “my laboratory.”

“Oh. What happened to your car, dude? Was it stolen or blown up or someone tried to fake their own death by running it into a wall?”

Gorsky squinted at him. “...no. I've just decided to reduce my carbon footprint. Either I utilize public transportation or bike to work.”

“Bike?” Charlie snorted. “Sounds gay.” He gave a chastened look to Gorsky and cleared his throat. “I mean, sounds homosexual.”

“Charlie, you’re still using the term as a derogatory.” Gorsky had to smile at his attempt at correction, though.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were lame, er, gay, um, unless, you know, you’re into that sort of thing…” Charlie trailed off.

“Actually, Charles, it might interest you to know about the Kinsey scale.”

“Is that...how you weigh gay people?”

“No, dear boy, it’s a measure of sexuality. Dr. Kinsey theorized that no one was absolutely hetero- or homosexual. Rather, on a sliding scale as to what sex you prefer.”

Charlie thought a moment, brow knitting. “So you could be mostly into chicks, but like, kinda into dudes.”

“Exactly.”

“Ohhh.” Charlie’s eyes lit up. “Like Mac! He used to bang chicks, but he’s pretty goddamn gay now, dude. Like, to the point where it’s kind of annoying that he won’t admit it.”

Gorsky grimaced. “Yes, sometimes deeply closeted individuals will turn to promiscuity to mask their base preferences.”

Charlie pulled a boiled egg out of his pocket and casually took a bite, taking a moment to wipe off a lint ball with his thumb. “So what about you, dude?”

Gorsky flushed a little. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you, like, kinda gay or a lot gay or…”

Gorsky cleared his throat. “I might like you to answer that question yourself, Charlie. Where do you place yourself on that scale?”

Charlie thought for a minute as he polished off his snack. “Like...where would you put a guy who’s been in love with one woman his whole life, like, crazy in love, and then everyone keeps assuming he was molested?”

Gorsky stared down at the ground. “...I honestly don’t know.”

“Ah, well.” Charlie shrugged. “I bet there’s a lot about me that science can’t explain. I bet I'm a totally unique case and that’s why you decided to study me, huh?” He playfully jostled Gorsky’s shoulder with his own. Gorsky flushed slightly again.

“Well yes, I would say you are one of a kind, Charlie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reasons Charlie Kelly is a cat:  
> * he hates rats  
> * he is an expert on bird law  
> * that hair  
> * eats cat food  
> * kitten mittens  
> * glues cat hair to his neck  
> * that hair  
> Your honors, I rest my case


	3. The Gang tough talks the Science Bitch

The pub was deserted as Gorsky pushed the door open. “Charlie?” his voice gained a slight reverb in the empty space. “Sorry I'm late. We can begin.”

“Oh yes,” a voice echoed from the depths of the bar. Dennis did a little swivel-step out from a doorway, fog pooling around his ankles. “We _can.”_

**_♫The Gang tough talks the Science Bitch♫_ **

Dennis was doing a bizarre sort of half-dance walk as he crossed the room towards Gorsky, wearing the same unblinking smile favored by cultists and Verizon salespeople.

Gorsky squinted. “Is that...did you rent a fog Machine just to intimidate me?”

Dennis chuckled. “Rent? No. The _MistMaster 2400_ paid for itself long ago. It’s necessary for when I need a little...atmosphere?”

Gorsky stared at him for a good long moment. “Right. Well. Can you tell me where Charlie is so we can begin?”

Dennis walked a few more steps with a lazy smile. “Oh, Charlie’s where he belongs, in the refuse pile of life. But we, we are men of intellect, are we not? We do not sully our hands with the commonplace.”

Gorsky pursed his lips in an attempt not to smile. “Mr. Reynolds, you appear to be confused about what is going on. I am making a study of your friend Charlie, and no attempt to lure me away from that is going to change my mind.”

“Oh, I'm not talking about changing your mind. I’m talking about _transfiguring_ your mind.” Dennis did a little hand gesture like a magician revealing a dove. “I’m talking about working together to change the very foundation of academia as we know it.”

“Ah, I think I know what this is.” Gorsky flipped to a page of his commonplace book. “You’re...demonstrating value, aren’t you?”

Dennis’s smile froze.

“All part of the so-called D.E.N.N.I.S. system, yes, Charlie told me all about it.” Gorsky folded his arms. “Mr. Reynolds, your input is not needed here. In fact I'd appreciate it if you took a large step back from the proceedings. You are not a scientist, you are not a doctor, you are a publican...and not a very good one at that.”

Dennis’s face clouded over. “Ah, I see. That’s how it is. Well, you don’t think you can enter the palace that is Paddy’s Pub without tribute to the gatekeeper, do you?”

“Actually, I think you’re a narcissist with a pathological thirst for attention and an inflated sense of your own intelligence, and you maintain control over your friends because your deepest, darkest fear is the loss of the status quo.  How’s that?”

Dennis twitched. “I’m not... thirsty…”

**_Slightly later_ **

“I really must protest Ms. Reynolds!” Gorsky tried to wrench his sleeve from Dee’s grip as she dragged him into the office. Alas, her unusually large hands kept tight hold of him as she pulled him over to the desk. “All I want it for someone to tell me where Charlie is!”

“Oh, Charlie’s crawling around in filth like the dirtgrub he is. That leaves you and me.” Dee spun the office chair around and sat. “Look, I'll level with you. I saw what you did to Dennis. I know you’re planning some big con on Charlie.” Dee folded her arms. “I want in.”

Gorsky sighed. “Is it too much to ask that at least one member of the Reynolds family take me at my word? There is no _con,_ Ms. Reynolds. I am not interested in exploiting your friend, I'm studying him.”

Dee nodded, jutting her jaw out like a predatory bird. “Riiiiiiight. So which is it, you trafficking his organs or making him smuggle drugs?”

“I feel like we’re having two different conversations. Are the words I'm speaking English to you or just a strange gibberish?”

“Look, I know the Chinese will pay a lot for a healthy adult male, but Charlie’s basically a side of ham that’s been marinated in alcohol for years. We might get away with it if we pump him full of formaldehyde so he looks crisp and then run the second they hand the money over.”

Gorsky’s mouth opened and closed. “...I think you’ve mistaken me for an entirely different person. Even if I _could_ surgically remove Charlie’s organs, even if I was offered money to do it, I wouldn’t.”

Dee nodded her head, frowning. “So you’re pussydicking me around, huh? Trying to play hardball with me? I got news for you, sonny. No one plays harder ball around here than me. You don't impress me, and your office don't impress me, and your family don't impress me. Bunch of rumrunners.” Midway through the rant she had slipped into a bizarre hybrid of a Bostonian and Bronx accent.

Gorsky wrinkled his brow. “I’m sorry, are you putting on an accent?”

Dee cleared her throat. “Yeah, um, why? Did you like it?”

“....I have to use the loo. Excuse me.”

**_Even more slightly later_ **

Gorsky was in a stall in the men’s room for all of two seconds when a plate disguised with a picture of a kitten slid open, revealing a suspicious and familiar squint.

Gorsky sighed and put his head in his hands. “Is it so much to ask that I have privacy in the lavatory?”

“Why, you got a guilty conscience? Confess your sins, my son, and I'll  absolve you.” Mac spoke in a gruff, crackly voice.

“Are you ill?”

“N-no.” Mac sounded slightly more normal this time.

“Look, Mr. McDonald...Mac, I just want to find Charlie. You may lecture me at length about exploiting him or protecting him or whatever you wish, just. Tell. Me. Where. Charlie. Is.”

“He’s probably elbow-deep in the mess, which leaves you and me to tango. What do you say?”

Gorsky shook his head and heaved up from the toilet. “Right. Not doing this.”

Mac burst out of the adjoining stall. “Aw, come on! I had this whole thing prepared! At least let me bust some moves!”

“Mac, I really—”

Mac commenced to do a series of faux-karate kicks and chops while making swishy noises with his mouth. Gorsky just stared, mouth agape, at the spectacle.

Mac kicked a toilet paper refill and tried to play it off as intentional. “Whaddya think, huh? I’ve really been focusing on leg day, packing in a lot of squat-thrusts with Dennis.”

Gorsky twisted his mouth. “Erm, impressive. Could you perhaps demonstrate a kick on that fire extinguisher over there?” He pointed to a point on the back wall.

Mac turned. “Dude, there’s no fire extinguisher.”

He looked back to find the bathroom door swinging shut.

**_Outside_ **

Gorsky bolted out the back entrance to paddy’s pub and leaned on the door, panting. Good god, they were all barking mad. Maybe he should flee before he ran into Frank again and got yet another tough talk. Perhaps it wasn’t too late—

“Oh, hey dude. I didn’t see you down there.”

Gorsky looked up to see the pleasantly surprised face of Charlie Kelly looking down from atop a large mound of garbage. “Charlie? Where have you been?

“Just taking care of business, you know, Charlie work.” Charlie took a step and frowned as he sank up to his knees in a large pile of diapers. “I told them to tell you I was out back working the trash. Didn’t they do that?”

Gorsky shook his head. “Your friends have been...why are there so many disposable nappies in a pub’s rubbish pile?”

Charlie chuckled. “Oh yeah, there was this whole scheme with a limo and this angry street performer and some Indian food that I don’t even wanna go into right now.” He waved a yellow-gloved hand around. “Anyway, I'll be a while. We can do this another day, right?”

“Nonsense, Charlie.” Gorsky shaded his eyes with his hand. “I’m here to study you and all that you do. This seems like as good a time as any.”

Charlie remained in place. “...so we can do this another day, right?”

“Charlie, you seem out of sorts. You don’t think it’s important for me to observe you working?”

Charlie scratched behind his ear, glove making the action ineffectual. “It’s just...Charlie work sucks, okay? It’s the worst of the worst jobs, and they always think they have to, like, trick me into it. I was already headed out here when Dennis told me he heard Frank yelling from that dumpster over there. And I mean I _knew_ Frank wasn’t in there, because this is the day he spends at Wendy’s with Artemis, but I have to double-check just to make sure he’s not there, you know? Next thing I know the door’s slamming shut and Dee and Dennis are holding it closed and giggling. And you can’t break Dee’s grip, man, she’s got hands like a super gorilla or something, so that door’s staying shut. So ah…” Charlie shyly looked down at his feet. “”It’s totally dumb, right?”

Gorsky smiled. “Not at all. By that simple statement, you tell me worlds about your friends.”

A hint of a smile picked at the corner of Charlie’s mouth. “Really, dude?”

“Yes. I can deduce that your friends depend heavily on your labor and without you, their established pecking order would collapse. They are so afraid of this that they resort to deception to insure your cooperation. It tells me you are crucial, Charlie, despite what they may or may not say to you.”

Charlie looked genuinely touched. “Wow, that’s...probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Gorsky realized how personal he’d gotten and flushed, clearing his throat. “Well, ah...it helps to keep perspective, Charles. Charlie.”

“Cool. Cool. Good...talk.” Charlie swung his arms, not sure of where to look. He slid down the mountain of trash, bringing a few loose diapers that reeked strongly of Korma with him. He opened a jug of cleaning solution and, as Gorsky looked on horrified, drank a large swig. Charlie noticed his look and proffered the jug.

“Want some?”

“Charlie, that’s bleach.”

“Nahhhh—well—maybe. A little. I didn’t rinse it that good. But it’s my cleaning drink. Vodka, Drambuie, a little bit of the pickled egg brine—”

“And you consume that before you work?”

“Sure. Takes the edge off.” Charlie looked alarmed. “Why, is that a bad thing?”

Again with the personal commentary, Gorsky. When _would_ he learn to restrain that schoolmarmish edge to his voice? “It’s...well, it’s not the healthiest thing to have in your body, Charlie. Perhaps some food would better fuel your efforts. But I'm not telling you _not_ to do it, simply asking that you take it under advisement.”

“Ohh, I totally get it,” Charlie said, not getting it at all, “you’re saying food is fuel, so I should add gas to this puppy, right?”

“No, no, not at all! I meant you should actually eat food to-to-”

“Ohhhhh, _now_ I get it.  But whoa, you didn’t hear this part of the scheme, I kinda have to not eat for a few days. It’s part of this whole thing.”

Gorsky made a halfhearted attempt to lift his clipboard, but all his horrified attention was focused on the gently swaying young man in front of him. “You mean to tell me your friends told you not to eat for days...and you did it?”

“Sure. Since they asked. Is that bad?”

Gorsky bit his tongue. _Objectivity_ , _objectivity, objectivity._ “You...seem to allow these friends of yours a significant amount of sway over you. Yet you seem to hate it. Why not leave?”

Charlie peeled off a glove with his teeth, revealing that his hand beneath was nearly black with filth. “Welll...they’re my friends.”

“Yes, yes, but why do they continue to remain your friends? You’ve told me about their many betrayals, their condescension, how they exploit you. Why have these people in your life at all?”

“I guess...I dunno, we’ve been friends for a long time, since elementary school in Mac’s case. Come on—” he jogged Gorsky’s shoulder with his hand, making the scientist recoil slightly. “—you must’ve had a crew way back when, right?”

“I’m afraid not, no,” Gorsky said crisply, brushing at the black mark Charlie’s hand left, “I had no time for such things.”

Charlie looked at him like he’d suggested they go skinny dipping in the trash. “So...who had your back? Who did you mess around and do fun stuff with?”

Gorsky weighed the value of turning over such personal information vs gaining his subject’s confidence. “My parents encouraged me to develop my academic excellency. My days were filled with study.”

Charlie’s brow knit as he translated it into Charlie-speech. “...so you had no friends?”

Gorsky flushed slightly. “Y-yes, I suppose you could put it like that. Now back to your—”

“I am so sorry, dude.” Charlie was shaking his head. “I had no idea.”

Gorsky was on the cusp of a reply that academic work was perfectly fulfilling and no, he didn’t miss playing or hanging out or birthdays or anything normal adolescents did when he found himself enveloped in another pungent yet surprisingly nice hug. His stomach did a little flip. Damn it.

Charlie drew away after a few pats on the back. “So where’d you end up? Penn state? If it was La Salle you might want to keep it quiet around Dennis.”

“No, actually I went to Oxford. Quite a prestigious school back in the UK.”

“UK...the band with that Bono guy?”

“No, Charlie, England.”

“Ohh.” Charlie grinned lopsidedly. “So you’re actually English. I thought really smart people just talked like that.”

“Well, that would explain your performance at my last lecture.” Gorsky smiled “now that we’ve ironed those things out, would you like to go back to demonstrating Charlie work?”

Charlie nodded, no longer self-conscious. “Okay, so, the whole deal with these is that I was going to shovel these diapers into separate garbage cans, and Mac and Dennis were going to go around rich neighborhoods and plant—”

A badly-burnt man burst shrieking from the pile of trash and scuttled away as Charlie mirrored his shrieks and banged two garbage can lids together. The bum snatched up a diaper as he ran, soon the sounds of plastic ripping and a barely contained gag drifted back to them.

“Aw man, I got a shit one. Shit diaper!”

“Yeah, that’s right Cricket, I planted some decoys ‘cause I knew you’d pull this!” Charlie yelled, “and also guess what? That’s not baby shit!”

Charlie shot Gorsky a triumphant grin and nod. Gorsky gave him a very thin-lipped grimace and repressed a retch. His clipboard sat forgotten on the ground where he'd dropped it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, I think I'm really playing fast and loose with continuity. The best I can give you is that this is pre season 11 Mac coming out and...that's probably it.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also Dee's speech is totally stolen from Hoffa, which was directed by some short guy idk~~


	4. Charlie and the Science Bitch kiss

Armitage Shanks braved a steep slope in the latest cheese maze. Gorsky timed him, jotting down notes for each twitch of his white whiskers.

“Professor, could I have a moment?” Tang-see approached the maze. Gorsky noted with a sinking heart that he held the latest observation notes. He tried to play as cool as possible.

“Of course, Tang-see.”

“I’ve been going over your most recent notes and I noticed something.” he plopped a page from the stack onto the desktop. “Here you write that the subject was deceived into consuming three bottles of maple syrup, and beneath that one word:  _ ‘vile _ .’ Was that an interjection on your part?”

Gorsky cleared his throat, scrambling for a lie. “Well-yes-actually, the subject described his experience with distaste and, unthinking, I put it down in my own words. I believe his real turn of phrase was ‘totally asstastic.’ A bit of editorialism on my part, do forgive me.”

Tang-see nodded curtly and departed. Gorsky watched him turn a corner into the hall, gripping the edge of the maze so hard his knuckles whitened.

Vile.  _ Vile _ . His thoughts and feelings slipping into his work. It was a vile act to trick one’s own friend into chugging enough syrup to send him into a diabetic coma, no two ways about it, but he had. to remain.  _ objective _ .

Gorsky set his mouth into a hard line and glared down at the white rat who now nibbled at a wedge of muenster. He must retain a professional, even cold distance. Charlie was a set of data, nothing more. Gorsky was the eye, the camera, he had no feelings towards his subject. There was no emotional connection. None.

**_♫_ ** **_Charlie and the Science Bitch kiss_ ** **_♫_ **

“Okay, guys, could you repeat the plan back for my buddy here, please?” Charlie, dressed in a green t-shirt with an oddly phallic logo, put his arm lightly around Gorsky’s shoulders. Gorsky tried to sidestep it without calling attention to the fact that he was doing so.

“Look, if science bitch wants to be a part of this, science bitch has to be lookout,” Mac said, dressed in an identical shirt.

“Please, gentlemen, I am forbidden to—”

“—interfere in the observation, blah blah blah.” Dennis seemed determined to pretend he’d never been interested in the scientist after the altercation in the pub. “Look, we’ll run through it quick, but we’ve got a time limit here. Mac, in a rare stroke of genius, thought up a business wherein we provide insurance to local waitresses in the case of lost or stolen gratuities—”

“—yeah, and Dennis came up with the brilliant business name: Just The Tip.” Mac said, picking up the conversational ball with ease.

“Okay, but, doesn’t that sound just a  _ little  _ rapey to you?” Charlie asked so Gorsky didn’t have to.

The other two men scoffed and looked at each other.

“What? It’s catchy, funny,  _ and  _ sexy,” Dennis said.

“No, dude, ‘just the tip’ is what you say when chicks don’t want to do it in the vagina and you trick them into it anyway. Also, why is our logo a dick?”

Gorsky hid a smile behind his clipboard. Mac and Dennis looked at each other’s shirts in a mixture of outrage and denial.

“Dude, that is not a dick. It’s a greek pillar symbolizing strength. Greeks were totally into strength, that’s why their statues didn’t have clothes. Or their wrestlers. It’s about celebrating human endurance.”

“It’s a dick. It’s even circumcised.” Charlie frowned down at his shirt. “I look like an apprentice rapist right now and I'm so not cool with that.”

“It is not rapey, dammit!” 

Gorsky held up his hands. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, we mustn’t bicker. Please, tell me what purpose the vehicle serves?”

Mac and Dennis looked back at the Toyota Yaris they had modified by removing the rear and passenger doors and glueing a suspiciously-shaped pole to the roof. 

“Well, it’s our company vehicle. We roll around looking for waitresses to educate.”

“Oh yeah,” Charlie said dryly, “maybe you do it at night, too, as they’re walking home from work all alone and they’re all vulnerable.”

The other two men lifted their eyebrows and nodded. 

“I like it,” Dennis said, “but their bosses might be watching them, so when we drive by we just shouldn’t even stop. Like, one of us slows the car and the other grabs the waitress and pulls her inside.”

Charlie just shook his head slowly. “....wow.”

“But what if the bosses recognize us as union teamsters or something like that?”

Mac snapped. “Ski masks!”

Gorsky had to ponder whether these harebrained schemes looked any saner from the inside. What had even prompted this sudden philanthropic turn? He suspected Charlie, who now sported a guilty twinge to his face, had started the ball rolling as another attempt to get close to the object of his obsession, the hapless coffee shop waitress. But it didn’t explain how and why Dennis and Mac had gone straight from point A, skipping over B, C, and all logical destinations to point Theta. He’d actually been present for a bar room discussion that began as an argument over pears and ended as a tearful rant about the possibility of male pregnancy. It was quite fascinating, their shared madness. The beginning of any given argument in no way predicted the outcome. 

“...look, if they have mace they’ll probably try to mace us because women are scared of fiscal responsibility, so I say we get some chloroform—

Any further discussion was curtailed when Dee ran up shrieking like a harpy with her hands curled into claws. 

“ _ My car, you assholes ruined my new car!!!” _ She lunged for her brother. The men scattered in the wake of her wrath.

“Run, Hymie, run!” Charlie called over his shoulder.

Grosky’s veins flooded with adrenaline. “Surely—”

“She’s got legs like an ostrich! Have you ever seen an ostrich kick a grown man in the head?  _ Run!” _

Gorsky’s feet moved independant of his brain. His clipboard and pen dropped, his arms slicing the air in a pathetic mimic of an experienced runner. The four split as they left the alleyway; Mac and Dennis vaulted over a chain link fence, Charlie fled west with Gorsky not far behind.

A pain lanced through Gorsky’s side and he slowed. 

“Char—” he gasped. There wasn’t enough air. He didn’t know how to breathe, he’d never been any good at PE.

Charlie glanced behind himself and noted the scientist dropping behind. Instead of running off and abandoning him to Dee’s mercy, Charlie dropped back a bit and grabbed his hand. Gorsky’s stomach did a little flip.

“Come on!” Charlie led him down a series of side alleys as Dee’s shriek echoed like a pterodactyl cry behind them. Ducking and dodging, winding down a maze of garbage cans and fire escapes until Charlie finally ran out of steam. He came to a jogging stop, relinquishing the hand he’d kept a tight grip on the whole run. Gorsky braced his torso with his arms, coughing as his attempts to breathe sucked in saliva. 

As both men gained their wind back, they met gazes and a sudden warmth flashed between them. Gorsky felt a grin creep up his cheeks. Charlie let out a winded chuckle. Suddenly, the two of them were guffawing with what little oxygen they could get. Charlie bent double with laughter. Gorsky cackled until tears came into his eyes. They drew closer, Charlie bracing his arm on Gorsky’s shoulder. They gasped funny little half words, gesturing back the way they’d came.

“Did you—” Charlie panted.

“I—I never,” Gorsky managed to get out.

Out of nowhere their mouths met and suddenly the two men were kissing in a filthy back alley. Gorsky felt suffocated again, as if he were underwater and Charlie’s lips were the only thing keeping him tethered to the surface. He wasn’t thinking of the experiment or objectivity or anything right then. Just the feeling and warmth of Charlie’s slightly chapped lips.

Too soon, they broke apart.

“Whoa.” Charlie laughed awkwardly. “That—I mean—” he made a little car-screech noise. 

“Ah—yes—well,” Gorsky could feel his face heat up. “I should—”

“Yeah, lemme—” suddenly Charlie’s hands were grabbing his face again and Gorsky was stepping into the kiss and it was good because it wasn’t an accident this time, it meant something, it meant Charlie wanted to kiss him and keep kissing him like he was, chaste and somehow not, passionate yet sweet. Somehow his bottom lip wound up in Charlie’s mouth, it was sucked on and teased with tongue until he had to brace himself on Charlie’s shoulders to keep his knees from buckling. Charlie had grabbed his face to pull him into the kiss, now he stroked Gorsky’ jaw on either side tenderly as if petting a beloved cat. Gorsky experimented with sliding his hands down Charlie’s back and found the other man pressed closer into him. He encouraged it, squeezing Charlie tighter and rolling thumbs over his shoulder blades. He could just barely sense Charlie’s pulse in his lips and the hint of tongue that forever teased but couldn’t quite brave the frontier of the scientist’s mouth. A sympathetic throbbing had taken up somewhere south of Gorsky’s belt, it compelled him to press even further into the shorter man (who was experiencing an ache of his own if the little hip-thrusts he gave were any indication.)

Charlie’s lips were a little swollen when they finally separated. Gorsky did not need a mirror  to know that yes, his lips were quite swollen too. Both men looked at each other warily, panting from exertion. Neither of them said a thing. Charlie kept brushing his bottom lip with his thumb. Gorsky realized his tie was askew and straightened it.

“So…” Charlie said in a low voice, swinging his arms back and forth.

“Yes, um, I—my notes.” Gorsky patted his pockets, like his clipboard would magically materialize in his pockets.

Charlie nodded, deliberately avoiding looking anywhere near the scientist. “Good...good talk.”

They awkwardly walked off in opposite directions.


	5. The Science Bitch catches feelings

Gorsky’s door swung open to reveal Charlie, uncharacteristically sombre. He was dressed only in a thin t-shirt and some of those eternally ripped jeans he insisted on wearing until they were nothing but loose threads.

“Charlie,” Gorsky heard himself say, “...are you supposed to be here?”

Charlie just looked at him with those sleepy green eyes, fringed with lashes thick and dark as crow feathers. He had one forearm propped against the doorframe, hip cocked slightly as he leaned into it. “Nobody knows I'm here.”

“Oh.” Gorsky felt a pleasant warmth spread through him. Suddenly they were kissing again, softer than before, and Gorsky felt himself relax. It was okay. It was Charlie. He lifted his hands to run them over Charlie’s chest and arms. Charlie lifted his shirt with one arm so Gorsky touched bare, warm skin. With his other hand he tilted Gorsky’s head down so the taller man’s face was flush with his. Gorsky felt he could not touch enough skin to sate him, not ever. Oh Charlie, _Charlie_ ….

Gorsky’s eyes flew open. Early morning sunlight leaked in through his curtains. His half-hard penis made a slight bump in his duvet.

“Oh dear god,” he groaned.

**_♫_ ** **_The Science Bitch catches feelings_ ** **_♫_ **

Gorsky tried rehearsing what to say on the way to the pub, but it was all jumbled and wrong. He kept trying to say it was a mistake, but choked on the word. Professional integrity would not let him lie: kissing Charlie was very much intentional. Now, whether it was proper or professional or sane—

The pub doors swung open, letting out strains of Genesis’s “Sussudio.” Dennis’s fog machine had been employed along with a rotating laser light to simulate an eighties club atmosphere.

“Heyyyyy, welcome to Paddy’s p—” Charlie croaked at the last word. His hair had been styled in a fair imitation of the lead singer of A Flock of Seagulls. Gorsky’s face grew hot the second he saw the man. God, he really was out of control, wasn’t he?

“Charles—Mr. Kelly.” Gorsky cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind having a word alone?”

Charlie laughed a little. “Dude, we’ve got this entire bar to ourselves. They planned eighties night and then Dennis & Dee got into a fight and stormed off and Mac got conned into getting chicken wings with Frank, so…” he trailed off, eyes dropping to the floor. On the pub speakers, the energetic vocals of Phil Collins faded into “Voices Carry.”

Gorsky scratched his head. “Just as well. About the other day—”

“Oh no, dude, it’s totally cool,” Charlie said with forced casualness. He grabbed a rag and scrubbed the bar fervently. “I get it. You caught feelings, I understand.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow. Caught feelings?”

“Yeah.” Charlie was intently looking at the wood whose veneer he was currently stripping with his cleaning efforts. “You share a close space with someone for a while, things get crazy, you catch feelings for them. It happens. Happened to me and Dee when we missed that boat. And that time her boyfriend dumped her. And that time we both got bombed together at Valentine’s day. And that busty slavic chick that time we went skiing and everything was all weird. And—”

“I get it, Charlie.” Gorsky put his hand up. “So you say people regularly catch feelings for you?”

“Oh, all the time. But I'm not, you know, relationship material, so it never lasts.” Charlie sighed. “I think we have to stop.”

_Hush hush, keep it down now. Voices carry..._

Gorsky’s heart hammered. “What makes you say that, Charlie?”

“It got weird. I told you it would get weird. I can’t...un-weird it, so…”

“Charlie, I must assure you, I bear no lasting personal—”

“Oh, that part’s not a big deal, people do gay shit all the time.”

Gorsky paused to give him a look. “What?”

Charlie shrugged. “Yeah. Perfectly straight guys do gay shit all the time. Mac used to do stuff like that with me, before...well, once he started getting obviously gay we had to stop because if we did gay shit while he was gay then that would make me gay and _that’s_ a whole mess—”

“So you’ve— _experimented_ with homosexuality before?” Gorsky was oddly disappointed that it hadn’t come up before now, and then irritated with himself for being disappointed.

“Yeah. A couple other times too.” Charlie was giving him a wary look. “Why, is that...was that wrong?”

And it was heartbreaking that even now, Charlie was so thirsty for approval he’d seek it from a man who had violated several ethics clauses on a whim.

“Charlie…” Gorsky’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Of course not. Remember Kinsey. Slotting all sexual desire into a dichotomy of gay/not gay is not only inaccurate, it’s downright pedantic.”

Charlie nodded along, screwing up his brow. “Okay...well, anyway, gay shit aside, we should stop. Like, the whole thing. My weird friends and life is rubbing off on you and I feel bad, okay? You’re really nice.”

“Charlie, wait!” Gorsky raised his voice slightly more than he meant to. “Just give me three weeks, all right?”

“Three weeks? What happens then? Will I be smarter?”

“What? No.” Gorsky shook his head. “Just...give me three weeks. To observe. We’ll met on a purely professional basis. No funny business.”

Charlie twisted his mouth as he considered it. “Dude, I dunno…”

_He wants me, for only part of the time. He wants me if he can keep me in line._

“Charlie, I beg you. Three weeks. The observation will be concluded and I will go back to my lab and you will go back to your rat-stick.”

Charlie chuckled. “It’s a pretty sweet stick. I have missed using it.” he sighed. “Okay, dude. Imma trust you on this point, ‘cause you’re the science bi—bro. If you say it’s cool, it’s cool.”

“It’s 273 degrees kelvin,” Gorsky chuckled, trailing off when Charlie didn’t get the joke. “Anyway, I'm glad I can count on your continued participation. I will be off to the lab to do some...clerical work.”

“A’ight dude. Pound it.” Charlie held out his fist. Gorsky reached out to shake, realized halfway he’d misread the gesture, and ended up awkwardly patting his hand instead.

“Ah yes. Good talk.” Gorsky cleared his throat and saluted Charlie. As the pub door swung shut behind him and the afternoon sun struck his skin, Gorsky felt reality suddenly slap him in the face. What the hell was he thinking? The ethical thing to do would have been to bow out gracefully, burn his notes, and never speak of it again. Why was he clinging to a compromised experiment?

Gorsky pressed his eyes with his fingertips. He knew why, he just wasn’t willing to admit it.

Gorsky sighed. Well, if he couldn’t stop entirely, he could do his utmost to limit non-professional contact between the two of them. He would keep interactions short and formal. No more personal stories, no more camaraderie. Simple enough.

**_Next morning_ **

Helmet clipped in place, security chain wound round the handlebars, Gorsky wheeled his bike to the end of the walk and turned perpendicular to his front door. A good, stiff breeze was rolling through the neighborhood and the sun was that perfect shade of cadmium yellow. Gorsky took air into his lungs and smiled.

Abruptly, a hand tipped with blades landed on his shoulder.

Gorsky jerked away, yelling.

“Whoa, dude, whoa, it’s cool, it’s me!” Charlie was standing just behind his fallen bike, waving his hands palm-out. The right hand was sheathed in a leather work glove that had steak knives duct taped to the fingertips.

Gorsky stared at him wide eyed. “Charlie? What on earth are you doing?”

“I-I wanted to see if you were on your way to work, I just…” he trailed off, following Gorsky’s gaze to his right hand. “Oh this. DIY Freddy gloves, check this shit out. I wanted to ask your help on patenting this bad boy, I kinda got screwed the last time I tried to patent something.”

Gorsky squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. “Charlie, I thought we discussed this yesterday.”

Charlie fidgeted, hiding his gloved hand behind his back like a ten-year-old caught with a catcher’s mitt near a broken window. “Well...yeah, but…” he chewed his lip a little. “...I gave it some...hypotheticalization, and I realized: we could just be science bros.”

Gorsky pressed his lips together, trying very hard not to smile. “Science bros?”

“Yeah. You’re not a science bitch, that was totally uncool for me to call you that. I feel like we could just be really good bros who hang out and do science shit together, like, in a lab somewhere, and maybe we fight monsters with science and then we could both be German because Germans are really smart like that guy Elmer Einstein and maybe I get a few tattoos in the process, I don’t know…” he trailed off, looking at the ground.

Gorsky shook his head tightly. “Charlie, we really must try to respect the boundaries of of observer and observee. They are in place for your own wellbeing, Charlie. Imagine if someone tried to use their position of power to take advantage of you.”

Charlie looked so open and trusting it hurt. “But you would never do that, would you?”

“Of course not!” Gorsky answered before he even had time to think. “...but if my data is to have any value, I must respect the parameters of science. My experience could cloud your own, coloring my conclusions.”

“Oh...okay.” Charlie looked down.

“I’m glad you see it my way, Charles, it really is for your own good.” Gorsky climbed astride his bike.

“Well, could I at least get a ride?”

“P-pardon?” Gorsky stammered.

Charlie was looking at him again with those sleepy green eyes. “Well, we’re both going the same place, right? Paddy’s pub? It makes sense for us to get there together, more...efficient for the experiment.”

Gorsky licked his lips. He couldn’t come up with a convincing enough argument against it. “Well...I s-suppose. But I have no spare helmet.”

“No need. I’ll be careful.” Charlie climbed onto the flat platform just behind the bike seat, tucking his bladed glove beneath one armpit. Gorsky tried to settle his stomach as Charlie’s arms tightened around his midsection. It took him three tries to kick off and he wobbled down the street, unused to the extra weight. He could feel Charlie’s face press into his back and, yes, he could even detect a faint heartbeat from where his chest made contact. He huffed and pushed with his legs and the bike struggled down the road. He wondered what they looked like to anyone looking out their windows, an odd gangly cyclist and a scruffy janitor-looking man clinging to his back. After a hot prickle of self-consciousness, Gorsky found something odd: he didn’t care all that much how they looked. Not when Charlie was clinging for dear life to his midsection, no, all Gorsky cared about was getting him safely to their destination.

Gorsky turned onto a side street and suddenly the road angled down. Pedaling was easier now. They picked up speed as the slope got steeper,  early morning breeze ruffling Charlie’s jacket. Charlie whooped as they sped up. Gorsky smiled, heart lifting higher as they sped downhill.


	6. Charlie and the Science Bitch get shitfaced

“...I really don’t see the point in _me_ drinking,” Gorsky shouted over the background din of the karaoke bar. “I need to keep sharp. Notes, and all.”

“Dude, the whole experience is about drinking.” Charlie had no problems making himself heard over the singer on stage. “You won’t get the full effect if you’re sober.”

“Full effect? I’m not going to be singing, Charlie, I'm here to observe.”

“Well yeah, but your observations...will..be scientifically more factual if...look, unless you have a buzz on, this is probably going to suck. You don’t have to get rip-snortin’ drunk, but a little alcohol is crucial to the karaoke process.”

Gorsky grimaced down at his glass. “Well, if I confine myself to just a few, enough to get a ‘buzz’ on as you say, I think it should be all right.”

Charlie slapped his shoulder. “That’s the spirit dude.”

**_♫Charlie and the science bitch get shitfaced_ ** **_♫_ **

They stumbled out of the bar hours later, giggling.

“I don’t know what their problem was,” Gorsky slurred, trying to steady Charlie and failing. “I thought your version of Freebird was perfectly servicicible.”

“Maybe I shouldn’tve done the guitar solo too.” Charlie burped wetly. “But you. Man, when you forgot the lyrics to Call Me Maybe and just started beatboxing? I got a little teary.”

Gorsky laughed roughly. “Shit off.”

“No really, I was really touched. You have a gift. And they should not have thrown bottles at you man, that was really rude.”

“Well, I probably shouldn’t have called them yankee doodle dickweeds,” Gorsky said philosophically. He looked down either side of the street. “Where the hell are we?”

“I know exactly where we are dude, we’re here.” Charlie spit into a trashcan a little. “Now let’s go somewhere else.”

They wove down an empty sidewalk like it was an obstacle course, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders for support, giggling to each other.

“Ssso, are we goin’ to your place or mine?” Charlie said.

Gorsky felt a distant sort of panic. “Is Frank home tonight?”

“Well, he’s doing this thing where he pretends not to be home and then he hides in this big hole he ripped in the couch ‘cause he wants to catch me pounding off…” Charlie blinked, like he’d forgotten what he was talking about. “Anyway, I've never seen the inside of your place. I bet it’s way nicer.”

“Well, yes, but…” he couldn’t quite find the words to tell Charlie that while he wasn’t exactly against letting other people into his flat, the act of inviting someone into his living space(and especially if that someone was Charlie) seemed too intimate a gesture. He tried opening his mouth and a wet gurgle came out, so he closed it again.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” Three men stepped out of an alley, blocking off their path forward. The one who had spoken looked like a stereotypical mugger: dressed entirely in black with a hint of meth mouth.

Charlie furrowed his brow. “Hey...didn’t you try to mug me so I would learn boxing once?”

The man blinked. “Oh yeah, no mistaking a freak like that. You got any money on you tonight?”

Gorsky felt the pleasant buzz of drunkenness drain away, to be replaced by a sobering terror. He put his hands up. “Gentlemen, please. There’s no reason we can’t be civil—”

Suddenly there was a flick-knife pointing at his chest. Gorsky staggered back. He hadn’t even seen the other man move. Now the mugger fenced him backwards while his friends circled around to flank him.

“Whoa, hey. You don’t need to do that.” Charlie’s voice was low and flat. Gorsky glanced over to find the younger man’s face an odd blank.

“Look, tell your boyfriend to fork over his wallet so we can take his pounds or crumpets or whatever he uses for money, and no one has to get hurt tonight.” the mugger prodded Gorsky’s shoulder for emphasis. Gorsky could feel the point even through layers of fabric.

Well, there is no other term for it: Charlie went off. He exploded on the three muggers like a grenade of nails and teeth and elbows, a shrieking tornado that gouged eyes and ripped chunks of hair out of scalps. The suddenness of the attack caught them off balance, one mugger managed to stagger back before Charlie kicked his knee the wrong way and he fell. The unfortunate gentleman who had pointed a knife at Gorsky wound up screaming on the ground, clasping bloodied hands to his face and scalp. The third man tried to run and tripped over his prone companion. Charlie tore at his back, shrieking like an angry crow.

Through all this Gorsky stood completely frozen, eyes wide and breath erratic. If you had told him only a few minutes ago that this bumbling young man was capable of such violent savagery, he’d have laughed it off. He was not laughing now.

Charlie rose. There was blood on and around his mouth. His shirt was spattered with it. But his face was gentle with concern.

“Are you alright, Hymie?”

Gorsky stared at him. “Am I alright?”

“Did he get you? Here, let me see.” Charlie pawed at his coat. Gorsky couldn’t help but feel a sudden cold flash of fear. “Charlie—it’s really—”

Charlie lifted the lapel of his coat and found the small pinprick of blood that marked the place the knife had been. Funny, he hadn’t even felt it. Charlie made an agonized sound, petting the injured placed like a dog licking its master’s hand.

“Dude, I am sosososoSO sorry about this. I can’t believe I let that guy get so close to you, I'm a knucklehead.” He knocked on his own temple with a fist.

Gorsky continued to stare. “And you, Charles? Are you injured?”

“No—well, okay, I think one of them got me a little.” Charlie raised his right wrist, which was sporting a scratch halfway across. “Yeah, that stings. But I'll be okay, I'll just dribble some bleach on that sucker, that’ll clean it.”

“Nonsense.” Acting on autopilot, Gorsky grabbed his free hand and tugged him along. “We are going to my flat and I am dressing that properly so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Man, it’s okay, I'm—”

“And what about pulled muscles? Did you strain yourself when you stomped on that man’s head?” Now that the adrenaline was draining from his body, Gorsky found himself shaking slightly. “You really must be more careful, Charlie, what if they’d had another knife? Or a gun?”

“I think that other guy might’ve pulled something, yeah, but I stepped on his hand.” Charlie struggled to match Gorsky’s quick walking pace. “What’sh the big deal? I had to offend your honor.”

And Gorsky couldn’t help but be touched by that. When they man had cornered them with a knife Gorsky had been flung back in time to the schoolyard. He was suddenly twelve again and helpless, accosted for his money and about to have the everloving snot kicked out of him no matter what he did. And then Charlie…

Charlie…

Gorsky realized how tightly he was gripping the other man’s wrist and eased up. Then he did one better and pulled Charlie closer, settling an arm around his shoulders.

“What about you, Charlie? What would I have done if you’d been stabbed? Think, dear boy,” he chided, “we’re miles away from the nearest hospital, I don’t know how much first aid I'd be able to administer.”

Charlie wobbled a little. “Yeah, but...it’s just me.”

Gorsky clicked his tongue. “Why should that make any difference?”

Charlie did not answer. Ten minutes into their walk he buried his nose in the scientist’s shoulder, letting himself be propelled along by the taller man.

It wasn’t until they hit his front door that Gorsky realized how he’d basically been running on fumes this whole time. He was shaking so badly he could barely fit his key into the lock. The hall lamp made halos in his vision and an ache in his temple so he clicked it off again. Charlie shuffled to the sofa and threw himself over it.

“Dude…’m so done with today.”

Gorsky felt himself tilt like a ship on rough seas. “I don’t believe I've hydrated enough tonight. I think I should...my tongue feels like a welcome mat.” he grasped his middle, trying to hold his insides in.

Charlie sat up. “Dude, it’ll be cool. Just breathe, okay? You’ll be fine. Give it five seconds.”

**_4.97 seconds later_ **

Gorsky heaved the entire contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. “Oh god, it’s so awful. Why didn’t anyone tell me it would be this bad?”

Charlie knelt beside him, petting his hair with one hand, scrubbing the blood off his face with a soapy rag clenched in the other. “Shhh, shhh, just get it all out. You’ll be okay.”

Gorsky spit a few times and then rolled over so that he lay on his back on the tile floor. “I never want to do this again.”

“Aw come on. Except for the...all the other stuff, the night hasn’t been so bad.”

“I mean drinking to excess.”

“What?” Charlie set the now pink rag on the sink and then gingerly lowered himself so they were laying side-by-side. “You never drink?”

“I drink, I just don’t get drunk. I find the loss of control unpleasant. And the vomit. And the headache. And the nausea.”

“C’mon. It can’t be that bad.” Charlie folded his hands on his middle and rolled his head so his face rested on his left cheek. “Isn’t it kind of fun to lose control, though? To just do stupid shit and wake up the next morning not even caring where you left your pants? I know it sucks raw balls when you go overboard but if you hit that sweet spot between drunk and blackout drunk you just forget the bad stuff.”

Gorsky sighed. “I suppose it all just comes down to the fact that I don’t want to block everything out.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence. “I guess I do.”

Gorsky did not remember falling asleep. He remembered vaguely marveling at how fluffy the bathroom rug actually was. He remembered calling Charlie’s name and finding him snoring softly. He remembered getting up to shut the bathroom light off and being overcome by pain and vertigo. Then the very next thing he knew he was opening his eyes to the inappropriately bright sunshine flooding his bathroom. Gorsky covered his face and swore. He tried to use the hand still pinned to his chest to grope for a handhold, but after trying to pry the left hand off with his left hand he realized the hands were not his own.

Gorsky tentatively peeked through his fingers and found Charlie Kelly spooning him on the bathroom floor, face peacefully relaxed. A whole range of unsettling emotions shot through the scientist. He decided to ignore them all.

“Charlie. Charlie, wake up,” he whispered, gently shaking the other man’s hand.

Charlie groaned, retracting his arms to stretch and thankfully saving them from some awkward questions.

“Aw, dude. What time is it?”

“Too damned early.”

Charlie winked one eye open and laughed. “I hear ya. Time for some grilled Charlies.”

Gorsky went to sit up and pain pushed him back down. “Really, you needn’t bother.”

“S’cool dude, s’cool. Grilled Charlies are the ultimate hangover food. You got American cheese, right?”

Gorsky closed his eyes and chuckled. “No, Charlie, I definitely don’t.”

“I’ll make do.”

“No need to make do, here—” Gorsky finally hefted himself up. “I’ll show you where everything is.”

Charlie’s eyes popped wide open when he saw the contents of the refrigerator. “Wow, you got food for days….do you, like, have roommates I'm not aware of?”

Gorsky gave him a slightly concerned look. “No, Charlie. I just buy enough food for one adult male. You don’t eat very much do you?”

Charlie lifted one shoulder, staring at the ground. “Well yeah, we never really had a lot growing up….plus I never have a whole lot of money...and some other stuff…” he mumbled.

Gorsky put a hand on his shoulder. “Well I have plenty. Go wild.”

He had a feeling he’d regret that statement. He also had a feeling he’d have to throw away at least one pan, probably after failing to scrape burned cheese from the surface. But just then, as he sat watching Charlie cook with a glass of water and two painkiller tablets on hand, he was hard-pressed to care.


	7. Y Kant Charlie Read?

Donald Crowhurst entered a competition to sail around the world singlehandedly, hoping the winnings would ease his deep seated financial woes. The only snag in his plan was the fact that he was not a professional sailor, he was a businessman. However, he refused to let this get him down and instead devised a plan; he would bum around the atlantic and present a false travelogue of his voyage. Little did he know that the task of inventing a journey out of whole cloth would prove to be infinitely more complex, involving reverse calculations of star charts and tides. It is said that the strain to keep up the lie eventually drove him to madness and suicide.

Gorsky was adrift in similar waters as he struggled to compose another field report.

 _Drank to excess,_ he wrote, then paused.

He wrote _accosted by_ and then scribbled it out.

He wrote _held at knifepoint_ and then scratched it out furiously.

He tried to write _defended_ and got as far as _def_ before losing his nerve and scribbling over the whole sentence.

Really, he didn’t need to lie all that much. He just needed to subtract himself from the equation and then…

And then…

Gorsky stared at the paper. He couldn’t not give Charlie credit. He’d saved Gorsky’s damn life, after all. But putting the incident down in a way that didn’t invoke further questions was a very tricky prospect.

“Hey doc!”

Gorsky yelped, flinging the pen so it landed point-first in the acoustic ceiling tile. Charlie put his hands on his hips and whistled.

“I do the same thing at the pub, only with pencils.”

“Charlie, what are you doing here?” Gorsky said, hurriedly stuffing the papers under a blotter. “I wasn’t going to come over until later to observe—” he consulted a note hurriedly, “— _Chardee MacDennis?”_

“”Well, yeah, but I thought I'd catch up with you here and maybe do some science stuff.” Charlie fiddled with a microscope, knob coming off in his hand. He quickly shoved it behind a rack of test tubes with a guilty look.

Gorsky looked no less guilty as he stood to block his notes from view. “Well, there’s nothing required of you in the lab right now, so…” he pointed to the door with his eyes.

Charlie sighed. “Imma level with you dude, there’s something I want to talk about where the rest of the gang can’t hear.”

Gorsky swallowed, pulse jumping. “Yes?”

Charlie looked down at the floor. “I’m not sure how to say this…”

“Try, Charlie.”

“...I’m illiterate.”

♫ **_Y KANT CHARLIE READ ?_** ♫

“That isn’t news to me, Charlie. I knew it when we first met.”

“Well yeah. But. Hear me out.” Charlie was seated on a nearby stool. He held Armitage Shanks, tail curling between his fingers as the rat nimbly balanced on his forearm. “Maybe you can science me into reading.”

Gorsky shook his head. “No matter how the public school system has failed you, Charles, you can’t really believe there’s some magical instant cure for illiteracy.”

Charlie fidgeted. “Well no. But I thought you could work with me and help me.” He produced a crumpled and torn paper from his back pocket and held it out. “I tried writing the alphabet this morning. Tell me if I got close.”

Gorsky took the paper just to humor him. He squinted at the collection of misshapen squiggles and lines. “Not even close, I'm afraid.”

“Really? I thought I at least got that one right,” Charlie said, pointing.

“Charlie, that’s not a letter, that’s an eye.”

“I is a letter!”

“But _eye_ doesn’t actually begin with an I, it begins with an E.”

Charlie’s face was solid confusion.

Gorsky sighed and scanned the paper. “Let’s see what else: you’ve got a sandwich—”

“Club sandwich. That’s a C.”

“A flamingo—”

“That’s P. because it’s pink.”

Gorsky frowned. “That’s...quite interesting, actually. Are you familiar at all with petroglyphs?”

“Nah, dude, Dee’s all into that Instagram shit, not me.”

Gorsky smiled fondly. “No, petroglyphs were the first writing system. Before there were letters, people simply used a picture of the thing they wanted to write about. That’s what you’re doing here, constructing a sort of pre-language.”

Charlie frowned. “So...does that mean I'm a caveman or something?”

Gorsky sighed. “No, Charlie, you are simply attempting to overcome a deficiency the best way you know how.” He paused, weighing his next response carefully. “...and while I cannot advise you in a way that would cause a conflict of interest in our professional relationship, I might suggest in the future that you take adult reading classes, something various schools offer as an evening course. This one, in fact.”

Charlie smiled one of his slow, gentle smiles. It made Gorsky’s heart skip a beat, something he rushed to disguise by scribbling aimlessly on a time sheet.

“Sooooo….whatcha doin’?”

“Data entry, Charlie. I may be some time so…” Gorsky bobbed his head towards the door.

Charlie wasn’t even looking at him, he was stroking down the rat’s back with his fingertips. “I was thinking, maybe I hang out here and help you with some science shit? Maybe try that science buddy thing we talked about?”

Gorsky had to fight down a sudden jolt of panic. Several reasons(most of them being his own selfish wish not to be found out) why it was a very, very, very bad idea for Charlie to hang around the lab crowded into his brain, but he was having trouble wording them in a way that wouldn’t be perceived as a deadly insult. Instead he merely blurted “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

Charlie looked at him. “C’mon, dude, I'm so sick of Charlie work. I wanna smart it up a little. Can we do, like, a maze race against your rat?”

“No, Charlie—

“Oooh, or maybe we do that thing where I try to get the cheese from that red light? I’ve been practicing.”

“Really—”

“Why can’t I do some science shit?”

“Because you’re only supposed to do Charlie work!” Gorsky burst out, exasperated. Charlie looked taken aback. Gosky realized the implications and scrambled to cover it.

“I-I mean—you’re not—”

Charlie was nodding slowly. “I think I get what you’re saying, doc.”

“Charlie, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re saying that...since I'm Charlie, everything I do becomes Charlie work...therefore if I want to do science shit, I should just do Charlie work?”

Gorsky stared at him, marveling at the Olympic-level mental gymnastics it had taken to reach that point.

He also chided himself at being selfishly glad the insult had apparent sailed over Charlie’s head. The incident after karaoke night flashed through his head. It was silly to be frightened of Charlie...wasn’t it?

“If you like,” he said finally.

Charlie smiled. “Man, you always know the best way to put it. Anyway, you doing anything after this?”

Gorsky felt relief as that conversational thread snapped. “I would ask what it is you want to do, Charlie.”

“I was hoping we could go meet my mom. She misses me if I don’t drop off my laundry every once in awhile.” Doubt clouded Charlie’s face. “I guess that sounds kinda boring.”

“Nonsense. Meeting your mother should be very...enlightening.”

**_Charlie’s mom’s house_ **

“Oh it’s so nice to meet my Charlie’s new friend,” Bonnie Kelly gushed, “would you like a plate of raisin oatmeal cookies, Charlie’s friend?”

“Thank you, madam, but there are already—” Gorsky took a quick headcount, “—three plates of cookies on this table. I really don’t want you to put yourself out for me.”

“Nah, dude, she just bakes a lot of cookies normally.” Charlie had taken a stack of shortbread Christmas trees and a glass of milk, now he sat nonchalantly dipping. “Go ahead and have one, they’ll just go to waste otherwise.”

Charlie’s mother beamed at him. “Isn’t he such a sweet boy? My little angel.”

As she bustled off, she paused to flick a light switch on and off three times. Gorsky observed it with mild fascination. His hand leapt to make a note, it was only then that he realized he’d forgotten his clipboard at the lab.

He turned and met gazes with Charlie, who had a knowing look on his face.

“Yeah, she does that ‘cause she thinks I'll die if she doesn’t.”

Gorsky’s mouth twitched. “...interesting. Does your mother know about your illiteracy?”

“Well. Yeah. Um, she used to do my homework for me. Um.” Charlie squirmed a little. “She really...needs to be needed. She even went out with Mac’s dad for a while because of it...well, I say ‘went out’ but….” He sighed. “Also Frank. I mean, besides the time he probably fathered me. He called her his bangmaid and treated her like dirt. Took a lot of work to break those two up and get Frank back.”

“Really?” Gorsky fought to keep a straight face. He theorized that the infantilization was Ms. Kelly’s way of overcompensating for a childhood of neglect. In hindsight, it was kind of astonishing that Charlie wasn’t the second coming of Jack the Ripper.

Charlie was picking green sugar from one of his trees. “It’s funny...the more she does for me, the less I like it. I know moms are supposed to do things for their kids, but I kinda feel like..she’s doing this stuff because she thinks I'm ashamed of her.”

“And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Ashamed?”

Charlie looked up, trouble in his green eyes. He glanced around guiltily. “Kind of,” he whispered, so faintly that Gorsky barely caught it.

Bonnie bustled back in. “Charlie, I want you to take a look at this box I found on the neighbor’s front step. I just know it’s a bomb this time, they’re part of that ISIS gang I tell you!”

“Mom, we’ve been over this. You have to stop stealing their Amazon packages.” Charlie accepted the box with a sigh. “Imma just go over there and put it back.”

“But the last one was a bomb!”

“That was a fitbit.” He turned to Gorsky. “Sorry, I'll just be a second.”

Once he left the room the most awkward of silences descended. Bonnie scrubbed aimlessly at the countertop, speaking to the already spotless surface instead of the man sitting at her table.

“My Charlie’s such a smart boy. Isn’t he a smart boy, Mr. Charlie’s friend?”

Gorsky had to think a moment on his answer. “He’s done remarkably well with the tools he’s been given,” he said honestly.

Bonnie beamed, sweeping imaginary crumbs into her hand. “I remember in school he was too smart for their tests. He was just bored sitting at that desk. That’s why he’s got a good job that gets him lots of fresh air and exercise!”

Gorsky smiled wanly. “About that…” he did a quick glance out the window. “...does...did your son have what you might call...violent tendencies?”

Bonnie went blank. It was a state Gorsky was all too familiar with by now, one he now knew was an inherited trait passed from mother to son. Her brain was psychologically rebooting to protect itself.

“Oh,” she said, dusting a nearby crock with her rag, “people can be so mean to my Charlie. He’s such a sweet boy. Sometimes he’s too sweet. People walk all over him, call him mean names. He’d come home from school and cry and cry.” She turned to Gorsky, her eyes large and glassy. “They never told me what that boy said to Charlie, but I know. A mother knows. Charlie would never defend himself, but that boy called me a bad name. I’m not sorry for what Charlie did. He stood up to those bullies, finally. They left him alone after that.”

Gorsky stared at her. Goosebumps raised on his arms and legs.

“Fi- _nished,”_ Charlie said in a singsong tone as he closed the door behind him. Bonnie immediately snapped back to her Stepford smile as her son walked in the room. Gorsky tried to regain a semblance of normalcy, pasting a wooden smile on his face as he turned.

Charlie still picked up on the strange air in the room, though. “Whoa...what were you two talking about?”

“Cookies,” Gorsky and Bonnie said in the same breath.

Charlie smiled at them, slightly weirded out. “Ooookay. Well, mom, the Mujahed family wanted me to remind you that they have an NCO pending against you and that their porch is off-limits. Hymie, you wanna get outta here?”

“Certainly.” Gorsky rose too quickly to be casual.

“Oh boys, why don’t you take a plate of cookies home?” Bonnie said, throwing open a drawer as neatly organized as the innards of a computer to grab plastic wrap.

“That’s really all right,” Gorsky said, holding up a hand.

Bonnie’s mouth wobbled. “Well what about some potato salad? A pickled egg? It’ll tide you over on the drive home.”

“Actually, madame, we walked,” Gorsky said, oblivious to Charlie’s aggressive headshake.

Bonnie paused. Then she let out a histrionic wail that made the windows rattle in their panes. The two men fled the house, slamming the door behind them.

Charlie chuckled as they strolled away from the house as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Moms, am I right?” He elbowed Gorsky in the side. “So what did you two _really_ talk about?”

Gorsky fought down a stab of panic. “N-nothing really.”

Charlie gave him a knowing grin. “Yeah right. I bet I know what it was.” he needled Gorsky’s ribcage with the point of his finger. “You were pumping her for info about me, weren’t you?”

“Charlie, I really didn’t—”

“It’s cool. Hey, who knows me better than my mom?” He bumped shoulders with Gorsky. “You maybe. I mean, we only just met a  little bit ago, and already you got me down to a T.” His face turned suddenly thoughtful. “You didn’t tell her we kissed, did you?”

“Of course not,” Gorsky said hastily, just glad the subject had shifted away from their conversation.

“Yeah, ‘cause she might...miss...construct that.”

Gorsky had to smile. “Yes, that she might.”

He did not fight it when Charlie went to hold his hand. He did not want Charlie to be suspicious of their conversation, because he was terrified that Charlie, in his own bumbling way, would figure out the real motivation behind Gorsky’s questioning. Namely, was Charlie liable to fly into such a volatile state if Gorsky crossed him?

And as Gorsky smiled and laughed with Charlie on their walk that day, he didn’t know. He really didn’t know.


	8. The Science Bitch and Charlie fall out

“Professor?” Tang-see rapped urgently on the lab door. “I found this in your mail cubby. I was concerned it could be a threat.”

Gorsky looked up from his microscope and took the battered piece of paper from his student’s hand. His face showed every hallmark of a smile without the actual physical lip movement.

“No, Tang-see, our subject is merely issuing an invitation. You see this collection of symbols here? It indicates a time and place for an event. Judging by this black-and-white striped bar, it has something to do with a piano recital. Yes, I'm sure that’s what it is.”

He looked up to find Tang-see frowning thoughtfully. His stomach dropped.

“You took very little time to decipher that, professor.”

Gorsky’s face went blank as he set the invitation on the counter and pretended to be immersed in the microscope once more. “Well...one can’t spend so much time with another and not pick up on their little...quirks. That will be all, thank you Tang-see.”

He could feel the accusing pinpricks of the student’s gaze on his back.

“I’ll have your latest batch of notes ready sometime later today.  _ Thank you Tang-see,” _ Gorsky repeated, emphasizing the last phrase with an undertone of ‘ _ leave _ .’

It was a few moments before he finally heard the squeak of the boy’s sneakers on the tile floor. Gorsky took his eyes away from the microscope and rubbed them with thumb and forefinger. 

God. Did he suspect something? Maybe the notes were too good. He had been able to work out a sort of formula to generate each new report, ensuring his active role was thoroughly disguised. Maybe the giveaway was how casual he was about the information now. It really hadn’t taken him long at all to crack the code. Maybe he was going native, Gorsky pondered. He moved his eyes over the string of symbols and caught something he hadn’t really paid attention to before. The actual act of invitation was represented by a pink heart. Gorsky ran a fingertip over the curves.

**_♫The Science Bitch and Charlie fall out♫_ **

Gorsky paused before knocking on the door of Paddy’s pub. He could hear the screechy overtones as Charlie rehearsed. A chime of pop-synth chords rang out as Charlie did vocal exercises.

“Check. CHECK. _ Just a city boooooy...born and raised in south Detrooooiiiiit…” _

Gorsky had a slight smile as he skipped knocking and just went in.

There was a multi-tier keyboard setup in the corner of the pub that normally housed the jukebox. Charlie had a telltale hint of silver paint around his nose as he jangled the keys. Today’s t-shirt barely had any holes in it, and the phrase “Burn baby, Burn” was sketched in fabric marker across the chest. Charlie’s face lit up when he saw Gorsky.

“Oh hey, dude. I’m so glad you could make it. I wanted this to be special. Here—” he came around the keyboard setup to usher Gorsky to a bar stool positioned right in front.

“Charlie, what on earth are you doing?” Gorsky asked, amused. 

“I’m serenading you, dude. Have a seat.” Charlie made sure he was comfortably nested before he went back to the keyboard. He tinkled a melody that sounded vaguely like “Don’t Stop Believing” before settling on a more simple motif.

“Whoaaaaaaaaaa— _ science bro, you’re the best, you taught me how cook,” _ Charlie belted out,  _ “you give me stuff that you can’t find in all those learnin’ books.” _

Gorsky hid a smile behind his hand.

_ “Youuuuuuu sang with me, you ate with me, you let me ride your bike. You also mindfucked Dennis which I kinda sorta liked…” _

Gorsky nodded along. Charlie really was a sort of musical savant, wasn’t he? The song was filled with beautifully complex flourishes that belied its crude yet catchy lyrics. He sang like a feral cat being swung by its tail, though.

_ “You dress real nice, you’re really smart,who cares if you’re a Jewww,” _ Charlie wailed,  _ “there’s just one more thing to say and that’s: I'll really miss youuuuuu!” _

Gorsky’s smile promptly dropped off his face and shattered on the pub floor like a cheap pint glass. He slid from the bar stool.

“Wh-what?”

Charlie finished his song with a smile. “I’m gonna miss you, dude. It’s been three weeks, so…”

Gorsky blinked heavily, shaking his head. “It can’t be, Th-Thursday—”

“Thursday was the day we went for karaoke, see? So it was actually three weeks ago today.” Charlie’s smile was beginning to dim.

Gorsky’s mouth flapped open and shut. He couldn’t help the catch in his chest saying it wasn’t over, _ it couldn’t be over— _

“W-well, there’s still...I haven’t...when I said three weeks I wasn’t…” he gestured aimlessly. “...data, you see…”

Charlie was frowning now, fingers idling above the keys. “Look...it’s not like we can’t ever hang out even if you’re not watching me anymore.”

“Yes, Charlie, it  _ is _ like that. I can’t just  _ hang out, _ you—we—”  Gorsky slapped his hands down on either side of the bar stool. “We can’t be seen together casually, i-it would have drastic repercussions for the experiment.”

Charlie was staring at him. It was a very un-Charlie stare. Piercing.

“Is that really why, dude?”

Gorsky stopped trying to stammer out excuses. He couldn’t help a little prickle of fear. Charlie didn’t…

Charlie’s eyes were clear and sharp like green bottle glass. “We’ve had a good couple of weeks. Now suddenly you want to break it off. I wanted to break it off earlier, remember? You said no then. What changed?”

Gorsky couldn’t help but be mesmerized by Charlie’s sudden shift in demeanor. It was like watching a caterpillar metamorphose into a cobra. “Charlie, it’s not that I don’t want to—”

“No,” Charlie cut in, “it’s that you think I'm stupid. Maybe I am a little. A lot. But I know some things. I know when someone’s trying to lie to my face. You remember what you said back then? About someone trying to take advantage of me because they had power? I know you were talking about you when you said that. You think you have more power than me because you think I'm stupider than you. You don’t want to be with me outside of this dumb science shit because you think I can’t cut it against you.”

“Charlie, that’s not it at all!” Oh god this was all gone so wrong, so horribly wrong. “We just...we come from different worlds, you and I. For us to be seen in public together...it calls into question the legitimacy of my work. People would wonder why we spent so much time together outside the experiment. People would talk.”

Charlie’s face was dark. “So what you’re telling me is you were only hanging out for the experiment? Like, all this meant nothing to you?”

Gorsky’s neck was hot. He could be sure stress-hives were developing all over his upper body. 

“Not at all! You mean a-a great deal to me, it’s just—”

“It’s just that I'm too stupid to be seen in public with you?”

“It’s just—”

“It’s just the fact that I'll never be any good for anything besides Charlie work?”

“ _ Will you let me finish?! _ It’s just that...there are guidelines for this sort of thing.” Gorsky swallowed. “Guidelines I was supposed to follow...and didn’t. If word of my indiscretion leaks back to the school, my entire budget is forfeit. Perhaps even my career.”

Charlie frowned. He could actually look quite dangerous when he wanted to. His voice was dead and dull as the night he’d fought off the three muggers when he spoke: “So this was all about money for you then? Congrats, bro. I hope it’s enough to make up for having to pal around with a dirtgrub.”

Gorsky covered his eyes with his hands and shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Your so-called friends exploit you regularly, yet—”

“At least they don’t pretend they’re doing it all for me, dude!”

“Yet you give them more leniency than me!” Gorsky held out his hands, palms up. “Have I ever tricked you into doing something you didn’t want to? Did I ever take money from you, physically assault you, or lie to get you to do something? Have I ever stolen your blood, Charlie? No, I don’t think I have! So why the  _ hell _ do I get such scrutiny and they escape analysis?”

“They’re my friends,” Charlie said flatly.

Gorsky clapped sarcastically. “Oh yes, such friends.”

“They’re still my friends and will always be my friends—”

“They’ll exploit you is what they’ll do!”

“—something  I don’t expect you to understand because you’ve never  _ had  _ any friends.”

It was a mere statement of fact, tossed off in a childish fit of anger. It should not, in fact, sting at all. Yet here Gorsky was, gasping and doubling over slightly as if he’d just been sucker-punched in the gut. 

It took a long time to find his voice again, and he couldn’t look at Charlie while he spoke. He couldn’t. If he did, he would lose it.

“...I thank you for your participation in this experiment,” he said to the floor, “and apologize for any inconvenience it may have caused you. Your cheque will be in the mail a week from this day.”

He could not stop the tremble that invaded his limbs as he walked from the pub. He strained his ears for any whisper, any squeak, any sign that Charlie was running up to him, perhaps to put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from leaving, perhaps to assault him. But the man who had serenaded him only a few minutes before was completely silent.

 

Good paper, that was what he needed. College rule, thick margins. The perfect thing for making a scientific list. Science was perfect, really. All you needed to do was plug a series of data points into a formula and you would get an answer. 

Gorsky used a thick black pen and drew a little headline: CHARLIE KELLY. He streaked a thick black line down the middle of the paper. Over one half he wrote ‘PRO’, over the other, ‘CON’.

The ‘CON’ column filled quickly. He wrote  _ criminal past, violent tendencies, hygiene _ (underlined thrice),  _ untreated diseases, rat mania, enmeshed family, narcissistic tendencies, gullibility, obsessive behavior, ignorance, stubbornness,  _ and  _ belief in male pregnancy. _

In the ‘PRO’ column Gorsky wrote “his eyes” before throwing the pen in a fit of frustration. There was no point in attacking it from a logical stance, because there was no logic to his attraction. By all counts, Charlie Kelly should not be attractive to anyone with half a brain.

And yet, and  _ yet _ …

Tang-see did a double-take as he walked by the open lab door. “Still here, professor? The lab’s been closed for an hour.”

Gorsky reclined with his tie undone, carefully parted hair mussed by repeated rakings of his fingertips. He had a half-beaker of Ethanol in one hand, which he gestured with. “Really, Tang-see? What an astute observation, I can see why you’re such a top student.”

Tang-see walked over and picked up the list from the tabletop, holding it out as if it was a bacterial swab. “Professor...is this what I think it is?”

Gorsky took a swig. “Yes,” he said dryly, “I've come over with an insatiable lust for our test subject. I’ve irretrievably botched the scientific process and allowed my personal beliefs to pollute my rational mind. Margaret Mead, eat your heart out.”

Tang-see was frowning as he shook his head. “I have to report this.”

“—and  _ I'll  _ just have to report the Sumatran rat-monkey you have hidden away in the back lab,” Gorsky’s statement caught him at the door.

Tang-see paused, one foot out the door. “That-that’s just a Tamarin.”

Gorsky rolled his eyes. “I know what a Tamarin is, and it doesn't eat live goldfish. Look, I don’t want to jeopardize this experiment any more than you do. If we both keep mum about this, I'm sure I can pull something out of my arse that will sate the committee.”

Tang-see was looking at Gorsky as if he’d started spouting the benefits of an all-cardboard diet. “All this for that man? He spoke gibberish to me and thought it was Chinese!”

“Yes, and he thought carrots had cyanide, that hippos were a kind of crocodile, and the word ‘camouflage’ had a Y in it.” Gorsky threw up his hands. “Honestly, I'm as shocked as you are, but...there it is.”

Tang-see hesitated at the doorway. “So what now?”

“Now?” Gorsky blinked. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. Whatever happens, I'll try to keep your name out of it.”

Tang-see lingered for a moment more, looking like he wanted to say something else, and then rapidly walked away down the hall. Maybe to report him. Maybe to go euthanize the rat-monkey before it was discovered. Whatever it was, it was out of his hands.

Gorsky thoughtfully traced the rim of the beaker with his finger. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to do damage control...


	9. Where's Charlie?

Gorsky pushed the pub door open, releasing the sounds of another bizarre argument.

“—I could totally nail this, I mean, I _am_ Maureen.”

“A musical about a bunch of thirtysomethings who have an inflated sense of their own talent and won’t pay rent ‘cause they don’t wanna? Oh yeah Dee, this play was basically written about you.” Dennis was currently occupied with drawing a bullseye on a watermelon. Beside him, Mac had donned his homemade gi and was doing sweeping kicks.

“No dickwad, it’s a beautiful meditation on the price of doing art in a corporate world, constantly beaten down by the idiots around you.” Dee cleared her throat and began singing. “ _La vie bohe_ —” She stopped with a hollow gagging sound.

Dennis clicked his tongue. “Unless the Philly theatrical society has decided to somehow combine musical theater with Gallagher, I don’t think they’ll be equipped with ponchos, Dee.”

“Shutup, I got this.” Dee hummed a high note. “ _La vie_ —” she started heaving again.

Gorsky cleared his throat, rapping on the bar top. “Gents. Dee. I'd like to speak with Charlie. Where is he?”

“Who knows?” Dennis said.

“Who cares?” Dee said.

“What’s a gent? Mac asked.

**_♫Where’s Charlie?♫_ **

“No really,” Gorsky said a little more forcefully, “I need to speak with him.”

“Well, when you find him, tell him someone left a floater in one of the urinals,” Dennis said, “okay Mac, the melon prep is done. You have the Knifey?”

Mac held up a shoe with a switchblade taped to the end. “Check.”

“Okay, so the purpose of this demonstration is to vet the plausibility of the shoe-knife that we see so often in movies.”

“I see those in no movies ever,” Dee said, “in fact that sounds completely made up.”

“Well, probably not in the shitty shit movies you watch,” Mac said, doing a whip-chop and knocking a shot glass to the floor.

“I do not watch shitty movies, okay? Just because it doesn’t have an explosion every ten seconds doesn’t mean it’s not a good movie.”

Mac snorted. “I like plenty of good movies without an explosion every ten seconds.”

“Name one.”

“Top Gun.”

Gorsky just stood there, gobsmacked.

“Excuse me,” he said, “are you really so self-centered you’re going to ignore me completely?

Dennis glanced over. “Well, you asked a question, we answered it, so…”

“That wasn’t an answer! I really need to have a talk with Charlie, you could at least point me in a likely direction.”

Dennis pointed out the pub door.

Gorsky flushed. “Listen here, you...human Dunning-Kruger effect! Charlie is practically your slave, I would think you kept better track of his whereabouts”

“Look, Charlie may be a total simp but he’s pretty secretive about certain things,” Dee explained. Behind her, suspicion crept across Mac’s face. “He likes to just disappear sometimes, and he never tells us where he’s been. We figured it’s best not to ask after he came back covered in pigeon blood that one time.”

“That’s absurd. You’re telling me one of your own friends randomly up and vanishes for indeterminate amounts of time and you just shrug it off? Don’t you worry about him at all?”

Mac’s eyes popped wide and he snapped his fingers. “You’re doin’ it with Charlie!”

Gorsky felt the color drain from his face. ‘Th-that’s completely ridiculous! Just because I show concern—”

“Dude, I know Charlie,” Mac said, “and he’s been acting off ever since you two met back up. You’re slammin’ ass, I can tell. What is this, some kind of sick science mindgame you’re putting on?”

Dee and Dennis were eying him with a mixture of disgust and intrigue. Gorsky flushed, feeling like a grade-schooler being accused of having cooties.

“We haven’t had _intercourse,_ for your information,” he snapped, “we’ve just—there was a misunderstanding, and I'd like to—”

All three suddenly looked as if they’d seen a ghost. Dennis dug beneath the bar and began putting bullets into a handgun. Dee fished out a crowbar from a side cupboard and began strapping on a helmet. Mac produced a bat and began meticulously hammering nails into it.

Gorsky just stared.

“...hello? Have you already forgotten I exist?’

“Yes, and if you have any sense at all you’ll make sure Charlie does too.” Dee pointed at him with the crowbar.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You dicked around with his heart,” Mac said, whacking another nail into the oak of the bat, “he’s gonna go psycho, so we’re basically going to batten down here.”

Gorsky felt a familiar chill descend on him. “That’s absurd.” Charlie would never hurt him...would he?

Dennis shook his head. “‘Fraid not. Charlie does not deal with emotional upset very well. At all. In fact he tends to physically assault anything that upsets him.”

“It’s true, dude. There was the time he went psycho and bit the neck of that mall santa,” Mac ticked off his fingers, “that time he went after the Philly Phrenetic, that horrible thing with the dog—”

“Ooh, he gets mean with rejection, too,” Dee chimed in, “remember that high society girl? The one he honeydicked along to make the waitress jealous? Charlie totally wiped his feet on her heart.”

“Yeah, and he slut-shamed her to boot.” Mac shook his head. “Even by our standards, that was kind of fucked up.”

The other two murmured their hypocritical agreement.

Gorsky swallowed. It felt like he’d stumbled upon some hidden room in Charlie’s house, some secret crypt containing all who came before him.

“How...what can I do? Surely, he’ll listen to reason—”

As if their heads were on a pull-string, the three shook their heads in unison.

“Charlie’s probably beyond reason at this point. He tends to work up into a homicidal froth up until the target of his ire is destroyed or otherwise neutralized.” Dennis peered into the cylinder of the gun to make sure he’d filled it and then chambered it with a snap. “Your best bet is to disappear, possibly fake your own death. How good is your Spanish? Frank may have an in for you in a South American country.”

Gorsky felt like he was floating behind his own body, looking down on the scene. This couldn’t be real. Charlie wasn’t a violent killer, he…

... _he exploded on the three muggers like a grenade of nails and teeth and elbows, a shrieking tornado that gouged eyes and ripped chunks of hair out of scalps. Their previously menacing attackers were left screaming on the pavement like victims of an animal attack._

Gorsky swallowed. “Isn’t there anyone who’s dealt with Charlie’s instability and come out unscathed?”

“N—” Mac looked thoughtful. “...actually, the waitress has pretty much stomped on Charlie’s heart for years and all he’s done is say ‘thank you sir, may I have another?’.”

“Yeah, if you want bitch lessons, the waitress is pretty much where it’s at.”

“Well if that isn’t the bitch calling the bitch a bitch.”

“Shut up, Dennis. I’m not a bitch, I'm just assertive.”

“So elbowing that cashier in the mouth because she asked if you had anything smaller than a fifty was just you asserting yourself?”

“Yes!” Dee scoffed. “She totally had change in that drawer, she just wanted me to look like an asshole in front of the other customers!”

“You had three things, Dee. Three things. Your total could not have been over $10.”

Like duckweed closing back in the wake of a departing boat, the gang resettled into familiar bickering. Gorsky stared despondently for a moment before turning and leaving the pub.

 

Let’s see, the waitress was currently employed in a second job at a hookah bar and would be walking to her night shift right about 3-ish, so—

Gorsky spotted her telltale haircut from across the street and tried to look casual as he dashed through traffic.

“Miss! Excuse me, miss!” he huffed as he jogged up. The waitress immediately put her hand in her purse, where her mace undoubtedly lay primed and ready at all times.

“Oh my _god_ , I am _not_ anyone’s runaway Russian bride, I did _not_ get kidnapped by a cult, and I do _not_ have amnesia. Whatever that little troll told you when he hired you—”

Gorsky shushed her. “Please, I'm not a PI or social worker. Charlie doesn’t know I'm here.”

The waitress stopped, frowning thoughtfully. “Hey...you’re that science guy. I thought you ended your experiment when you humiliated Charlie.” Her eyes lit up. “Do you need more help? I’ve got _years_ of material. I know his weak spots.”

Gorsky looked at her with dismay. “You appear to have misread me, madam. I don’t want to humiliate him, I want your help in dealing with him.”

The waitress looked puzzled. “What, you want to make an anti-Charlie serum from my blood?”

Gorsky growled in frustration. “Can everyone around here stop answering questions I haven’t actually asked? I want to know how you do it.”

“How I do what?”

“How you keep feelings from getting in the way. Teach me to walk away with my sanity intact. How do you cleave from him and not show a single iota of regret?”

Her look was equal parts incredulous and disgusted. She pronounced his death sentence with ten simple words:

“I don’t have to try. I just don’t love him.”

Gorsky knew, right then and there, he was finished. His last hope for cutting it cleanly off was gone. No one could help him separate from Charlie because no one liked Charlie as much as he did and walked away.

The waitress was still looking at him. “Are you okay?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Do you mean all that?” She looked slightly hopeful. “Does he like you back? Will you get together and get him off my back? ‘Cause that would be the scientific breakthrough of the decade.”

Gorsky was about to reply that even if Charlie still liked him there was no way in hell they would be able to maintain any kind of healthy relationship and no, Charlie was unlikely to change old habits and would probably still stalk her until she went into the witness protection program when a bloodcurdling screech cut into his thought process.

“Hey, hey, hey, what the Christ?” Charlie jogged up. “What the hell is this fresh mess? You moving in on my woman, now? Is that what this is?”

Gorsky’s temperature dropped as sweat drops paradoxically dotted his brow. He tried to stammer something but his mind was completely blank in panic of Charlie walking right toward him, Charlie with his brows knit and his fingers curling, Charlie raising his hand—

Gorsky did several things all at once. He yelped and stumbled back, ducking his head and raising a forearm to deflect the oncoming attack. His eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the impact, begging that he be spared the sight of Charlie’s wrath directed at him. His heel caught on an uneven bit of cement and he fell. His tailbone hit the pavement, hard, and he half-sprawled out on the sidewalk, arms shielding his head.

...nothing happened.

Gorsky dared to peek out one eyelid. Charlie stood frozen in the same place he’d been a second ago, hand still outstretched. He was giving the scientist a puzzled look.

“I wasn’t gonna _hit_ you, dude,” he said. He proffered his hand. After a long, measured second, Gorsky took it. His tailbone felt bruised. He’d arrested his fall with an elbow, it smarted now too. Possibly scraped. Besides these small twinges and the shake of the adrenaline leaving his body, Gorsky was unharmed. Physically, anyway.

Charlie kept staring at him curiously as he righted himself, Gorsky ducked his head so he didn’t have to make eye contact with the other man. He straightened his clothes and mumbled something before walking very quickly in the opposite direction. Maybe there were a few hurried steps as if someone was trying to catch up to him, and perhaps someone called “wait” at his back, but he pretended he hadn’t heard anything because it was just easier to keep walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait between chapters, Turn's series finale got me shook.


	10. The Science Bitch squashes some beefs

Frank was on the pub roof, sipping a longneck and looking philosophically out at the city. Gorsky crept up, trying to make just enough noise that it didn’t seem like he was trying to ambush the man.

“Mr. Reynolds?”

Frank finally turned to regard him with a piercing stare. “Gottlieb.”

“Gorsky, actually.” Gorsky didn’t know what to do with his hands, twiddling his fingers before hiding them in his pockets. “I have something rather big to ask you, and I know I have no right—”

“You wanna know where Charlie is?”  Frank sighed, and his face lost some hardness. “S’pose I can’t really keep you two apart, can I?”

Gorsky was taken aback. “...that’s very kind of you, but no. Your son...step-son, I don’t know, he said you might have an in for me in a South American country? I’d like to leave as quickly as possible.”

**_♫The Science Bitch squashes some beefs♫_ **

Frank squinted. “Why the hell would you wanna leave?”

Gorsky cleared his throat. “Well, I appeared to have, erm, _upset_ Charlie...and I think it would be best if I left as quickly and quietly as possible. For both of us.”

“Look, Charlie’s a firecracker, but he gets over shit quick. I’m sure you can work it out, whatever it is.”

“You don’t seem to understand this,” Gorsky said with a grin that was more like a grimace, “I've sort of...broken his heart and then I consulted the waitress on how to further break his heart. I’ve fucked up in a pretty spectacular fashion. So please. If you have any sort of connection to an airport that can get me out of the city, preferably in the next few hours…”

Frank was shaking his head. “No can do.”

Gorsky made an exasperated noise. “What do you want? You won, okay? You can have Charlie’s full attention back _and_ cut me out of the picture at the same time! It’s literally win/win for you!”

Frank regarded him. “...did you know how much Charlie talks about you? Kid never shuts up. ‘Gorsky this, Gorsky that.’ It’d break his heart if you left without saying goodbye.”

Gorsky ran exasperated hands through his hair. “Does no one in this city speak plain English? I. want. to. go. At this point I just want to leave because of how damn confusing this all is!”

“You’re confused?”

“Yes! Confused, achy, and depressed.” Gorsky could feel the fight drain from him as he spoke. “I don’t...I don’t _want_ to leave. I just don’t want to be hurt, all right?”

Frank stared at him, his beady black eyes glittering from behind his glasses like beetle wings. He lifted the frames from his nose and began polishing the lenses on his shirt.

“There’s not that many things that make Charlie happy. It’s important to me that Charlie’s happy. You’re one of the things that makes him happy. I don’t think he’s gonna come after you. Not like that.” He huffed on a lens. “You wanna leave? Fine. But you should talk to Charlie one last time before you go. He should at least know why you’re going.”

Gorsky sighed in despair. “...I can’t, I...I ran away the last time I saw him. I’m too much of a coward for that. I’m too much of a coward to even deal with my feelings. And even if he once returned them, surely he doesn’t anymore.”

Frank put his glasses on. “Hey, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t make, right? Take it from a guy who once had true love and let it slip away.” He slapped Gorsky on the arm, a startlingly strong gesture from such a small man. “You’ll regret it the rest of your days if you don’t try.”

Gorsky blinked at the uncharacteristically touching speech. “...thank you, Mr. Reynolds. Frank. Thank you.”

Frank nodded. His eyes got misty. “I remember the girl I first loved...she was an angel. She died before...before I could tell her how I really felt.”

Gorsky squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

“I was at a nitwit’s school. My parents shipped me off there. I learned how to pick locks from this compulsive masturbator. So I snuck out to see her all the time”

Gorsky’s grip went limp as a fish. He cleared his throat. “Ehm. Well.”

“She had no lips, on account of her parents being cousins and siblings at the same time. But she was no mutt.” Frank’s voice clogged with tears. “She was an angel. When she put that bag over her head, I almost hoped it would keep her fresh forever.”

Gorsky tapped him uncertainly on the arm, looking around desperately for something to distract from the situation.

“‘Course she went bad after a few hours. Nothing good stays fresh. Like egg salad!” Frank burst into tears. “She was my egg salad angel!”

Gorsky awkwardly patted his back, staring desperately at the door to the stairwell.

**_10 agonizing minutes later_ **

The door swung shut as Gorsky dashed from the pub. He leaned against the wall and took a moment to reorganize his thoughts and come to grips with the realization that yes, _that_ just happened. Whatever _that_ was. Gorsky shook his head to clear it and started away from the pub, just walking with no particular destination in mind.

After a while, his steps appeared to gain an echo. Experimentally, he stopped. The echo stopped, just a bit too late. He started walking again. The echo started up too. Gorsky slowed his steps, hearing or imagining he heard the steps draw closer.

“Charlie,” he murmured under his breath.

A hand found his and tucked into it. Gorsky held a breath.

“Hey.” The voice was so faint it could almost be written off as an overactive imagination. Gorsky slowed even more, hardly daring to move that arm.

“Have you been following me, Charlie?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Did the voice sound defensive? “Watching you. Watching out for you.”

“Like you did for the waitress?” That crossed the line a bit, he had to fight instinct to keep from retracting his arm out of fear.

“Yeah.” The voice was not angry or short. “I been looking out for you. Making sure nobody steals your bike. Keeping the riffraff out of your neighborhood.”

“And why would you do that?” Gorsky had no plan, no set of data guiding his behaviors. It was utterly terrifying but oddly freeing at the same time.

“...’cause I like you, dude. I like you a lot.”

Gorsky felt the fear that had been compressing his chest draw away, letting him get a breath in. He tightened his hold on Charlie’s hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of it.

“I like you too, Charlie. I’m exceedingly fond of you.” Gorsky wet his lips. “Would you like to talk about it?”

A sigh. A precious sound.

“Yeah. I wanna talk to you. Not talking sucks.”

As if drawing a fish up from the depths, Gorsky pulled on Charlie’s hand until they were walking side-by-side. Their feet fell into a familiar rhythm as if they had been walking together a hundred years and would walk together a hundred more. They wound up at the fountain where Gorsky had first come to him with the proposal. The two of them found a bench without parting their hands and sat, simply staring at the churning water, looking everywhere but at each other.

Gorsky felt he should start first. He was, after all, the one who had started this.

“About when we spoke in the pub—”

“Oh yeah, I have to apologize for that, dude.” Charlie sheepishly ran a hand through his hair. “That was so not cool to say, and I am so sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I felt like shit the second it left my mouth. I mean, I know what it’s like to not have friends, I was alone before Mac came along so—”

Gorsky gaped. Charlie was apologizing? For what? “No, I'm sorry. You were right. I was just deflecting onto your friends because...because I don’t deal with feelings well, all right? For years I convinced myself that having no social life was badge of pride, when really I was just scared.”

Charlie was frowning thoughtfully. “What were you scared of? You’re a great guy.”

“Charlie, I'm really not.” Gorsky pinched the bridge of his nose. “I crossed the line multiple times, but out of a mixture of selfish reasons, I kept going like I'd done nothing wrong. I should have left after that first night.”

“Why, what happened that night?”

“I touched you.” Gorsky caught Charlie’s look and backpedaled. “Your shoulder. You were having a night terror, and I, well, I—” he swallowed. “—I couldn’t just let you cry, alright? I comforted you. I broke the rules, the experiment was a sham from the beginning.”

Charlie didn’t look disgusted at all. In fact, he looked sort of touched.

“You did that for me?” Charlie blinked. “That’s...sweet.”

Gorsky flushed. “Well...it was the wrong thing to do. And I lied. I lied by omission. That’s the sort of man I am, Charlie.”

Charlie sighed. “Well...as long as we’re getting stuff off our chests...I know the cheese on the red light is electrified, okay? I just like how it tingles.”

“I already knew that, Charlie.” Gorsky couldn’t help but smile a bit. “And I know the roast pheasant you keep banging on about is really pigeon. You would never waste that much money on a bird.”

Charlie gave one of his slow smiles. It was like the sun spreading over the sky at dawn. “You know me so well, dude.” The corners of his mouth fell a little. “Why were you scared of me?”

Gorsky looked at the ground again as he stammered. “Well, erm, after I—after we fell out, I asked your friends about you and they said you were prone to...episodes of emotional volatility.”

Charlie snorted and rolled his eyes. “Well there’s your problem right there. My friends don’t know me….well they know me, but they don’t really _‘know’_ me, if you know what I mean.”

Gorsky blinked. “Yes. Well. I suppose I did jump the gun a little. And the waitress—”

“Oh. yeah.” Charlie waved his hand. “You don’t need to worry about her, dude, I let her down gently. I explained Kinsey to her and after she was done macing me she said she hopes we’re happy together. Well, she kind of spat it at me, but we have a history together so it’s natural that she’d be a little bitter.”

Gorsky couldn’t help but stare. Would it really be this easy?

“What about—”

“Ah, Frank already knows how much I like you. My mom...my mom’s pretty much stuck in 1987, okay? If you’re just my really good friend who comes over for dinner sometimes, I think she’ll be okay with that. She doesn’t see anything she doesn’t want to. What about your science...fellows?”

“Ah.” Gorsky looked away. “I don’t know. What about your friends?”

“I don’t know.” Charlie sighed. They both stared at the fountain, as if it would magically turn into a problem-solving elixir rather than a public water font smelling faintly of urine.

“Look, maybe…” Charlie scratched the back of his head. “...maybe we just hang out when we can. Away from other people. And we just...we do stuff we enjoy together. And we don’t care what anyone thinks or what to call it.”

Gorsky sighed. “Can this work?”

“I dunno. Maybe.” Charlie smiled nervously and shifted in his seat. “All I know is, I'd miss you if you weren’t around anymore.”

And Gorsky had to marvel that all the studies on altruism, all the generations of romantic ballads and odes and think pieces dedicated to passion in all its myriad forms were basically just variations on the same thing: _I would miss you if you weren’t around anymore._

Gorsky shyly draped his arm across Charlie’s shoulders. Charlie snuggled into it, laying his head down so that the top of it came to rest on Gorsky’s cheek. They sat like that, watching the water gush from the bronze sculptures in plumes, curled into one another.

“What do you wanna do next?” Charlie’s voice made a pleasant sort of buzz in Gorsky’s chest.

Gorsky cleared his throat. “Well...I had a series of...experiments in mind you might like to try.”

Charlie lifted his head so his chin dug into Gorsky’s shoulder. “What, like, more cheese stuff?”

Gorsky felt his face grow warm. “Actually, I thought we might take a page from Kinsey.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Charlie’s face. “Oh. Kinsey. I am _so_ down with that. Science bros?”

Gorsky met his fist bump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, the next chapter will be smut. wall-to-wall smut. excess smut. all the dorky smut you will ever want or need.


	11. Charlie and the Science Bitch bang

The door swung open to Gorsky’s flat, exposing the two men huddled on the threshold, each unable or unwilling to be the first in.

“Well,” Gorsky said in a stilted tone, “this is me.”

**_♫Charlie and the Science Bitch Bang♫_ **

Charlie cracked a small grin, but his eyes were nervous. No wonder. Gorsky’s heart was pounding.

“I’ll show you to the, um, er, the bedroom. If that’s all right.”

Charlie tugged on his shirt, which bore an almost cartoonishly large bald eagle. “Well yeah, I mean, where else would we do this? In the bathroom?”

That set off a round of nervous titters between the two of them.

“I mean, that rug was pretty comfy,” Charlie pressed on.

“I thought you meant the shower,” Gorsky retorted jokingly.

Their laughter died down as they actually considered the idea. Charlie raised his eyebrows  as if he’d just had a spoonful of unexpectedly delicious soup. Gorsky turned his face to the floor to disguise his flaming cheeks. Later, old boy. Focus on the now.

His bed was as immaculate and straight edged as a Punnett square. Charlie whistled low when he saw it. “Dude, do you even sleep here?”

“Yes, and I make my bed every morning,” Gorsky said, slightly irritated.

“ _Make_ your bed? Jeez, I'll stick to sleeping on a couch.”

“No it refers to the act of—” Gorsky made an irritated noise. “Look, we’re getting away from the topic at hand.”

“Right. Sex science.” Charlie cleared his throat and looked down. Gorsky mysteriously found something interesting on the floor as well. “So how does this work?”

Gorsky swallowed. “Well, considering the nature of your past...experiences, I wanted to try something called enthusiastic consent.”

Charlie furrowed his brow. “Which is?”

“Well, you tell me what you want me to do. Verbally. And often.”

Charlie snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s easy. Like, half of sex is just ‘god yes, stick that in a little deeper’!”

Gorsky tried not to think about how he’d gained that particular notion. “Well, theoretically yes. But this is more like a team effort. We’re establishing boundaries as we go, in the most comfortable way possible.”

Charlie was nodding along. “Dude that’s...why isn’t that in like, every sex ed class in the US? That is so frickin’ simple.”

“We’ll have my lecture on the state of your country’s educational system later,” Gorsky said with a smile as he loosened his tie, “right now, we should get undressed.”

Charlie grasped the back of his collar and pulled his shirt over his head in one quick motion. The act caused Gorsky to make a small noise in his throat. Charlie put his hand on his waist.

“You next.”

Gorsky realized he’d been staring. Yes, he’d seen Charlie shirtless numerous times in a lab setting (usually dotted with electrodes) but something about the rough casualness of the act made it startlingly erotic.

“Erm, yes,” he said, twiddling his buttons. “I think I'll—” he undid his shirt with a practiced speed, eyes cast away from Charlie. He held in a breath as his bleached-chalk complexion was revealed to the open air, opening his arms and letting the shirt slide down.

After a moment with no stifled laughter, he looked over to find Charlie nodding.

“Nice,” he said, “nice. You work out?”

Gorsky’s abysmal self esteem lifted a bit. “Oh, well, biking and—I row.”

“Like, on a boat? Neat.” Charlie lazily slid his gaze over Gorsky’s pectorals.

Gorsky blushed. Well, that was surprisingly nice. Now for the real terror: everything below that.

Charlie undid his belt and let his pants drop, disclosing the saddest, grayest mass of weatherbeaten cloth masquerading as underwear. Gorsky gave a startled chuckle.

“Take those _off_ ,” he said in dismay, full implication of his demand not hitting him for a moment. “Erm, I mean, if you want to.”

Charlie gave him a dirty grin and tore the underwear off like a stripper. Gorsky had to catch a laugh in his hand because dammit, it _was_ funny. And hot. But funny. But _so_ fucking hot.

His dress slacks were taken off and nicely folded over the back of a chair. Charlie made a ‘hurry up’ motion with his fingers. Gorsky wore a startlingly plaid pair of boxers that he was all too eager to get rid of, but now he was naked and that made him feel so...naked.

Charlie tried to look everywhere but his crotch and swung his arms. “So…”

“Well.”

“Yup.”

Gorsky growled a little. “Oh god, this is just ridiculous. We’re two grown men, we should be able to just…” he threw his hands up to illustrate a point he couldn’t quite put to words.

“You...want me to come over there?” Charlie asked uncertainly.

“Well, it’s a start.”

Charlie walked over. Gorsky tried to receive him with open arms but couldn’t quite decide between a more traditional embrace or a one-arm-over-the shoulder deal so they bumped chests. Both of them apologized. Charlie ran a hand through his hair and rocked on his heels a little. Gorsky tamped down the embarrassment and firmly put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Encouraged, Charlie lifted a hand to the small of Gorsky’s back and looked him in the eyes for perhaps the first time since they’d entered the flat. His eyes were such a clear green they looked like cenotes partially hidden by the thick flora of his lashes. One’s gaze could paddle around in them perpetually without tiring.

After a moment, Charlie said, “so...you wanna try something?”

“Oh! Erm.” Gorsky tried to think. “How about a kiss?”

“Sure.”

They mashed their lips together enthusiastically. They parted after a respectable interlude.

“That was…”

“Terrible,” Gorsky finished with a frown. “What’s different? Why was the other time so nice and this one wasn’t?”

Charlie thought a minute. “Well...I remember thinking back then: ‘I'm about to die.’ And then the next thing was, ‘I so do not even fucking care, I just wanna keep running with you.’ So maybe if we run for a while around the block, that’ll—”

Gorsky kissed him. It was mostly to shut him up before he went on a bizarre tangent that killed the mood entirely, but a bit because he really needed to kiss Charlie again whether or not it was good. Then Charlie took a little whining breath and it was good. So good. Better than good.

Gorsky had no idea how amazing skin-to-skin contact while kissing felt. Their kiss before had been a dip in a small pond compared to the ocean of sensation buzzing between the two of them now. Charlie was touching him everywhere! Did other people know how good this felt? He hadn’t! Not just Charlie’s hands but literally every surface in contact with Charlie’s skin felt electric. Charlie grabbed his ass possessively and Gorsky nearly melted right there. He ran his hand up and down Charlie’s chest (just like in the dream!) feeling his nipples harden immediately with a little thrill.

Charlie broke from the kiss red faced and gasping. “Dude, we gotta do some shit like, right now. I’m about to blow.”

Gorsky took a second to get his higher mental functions back. “Oh yes. Why don’t—ah—the bed.”

Charlie dragged Gorsky with him, licking his lips. Oh God. Gorsky had to fumble through all the sexual factoids(which he’d studied purely out of academic curiosity) he’d accrued in his lifetime. Did he want to try oral sex? ...not entirely, no. The musk wafting off Charlie’s body was more intoxicating than nauseating, but Gorsky wanted to be sure of some things before his mouth made contact with that area. Mutual masturbation? That hardly seemed enough. Anal sex? ...another day. If ever.

Gorsky fumbled for something, anything Charlie had said that would clue him in about sexual preferences. He had a sudden eureka moment.

“Charlie,” he said slowly, “I remember you saying something about liking...slippery things?”

Charlie nodded, wideyed.

There was some medical lubricant in the bathroom. Gorsky retrieved it and squirted a generous amount in his hand.

“I’d like to rub this on you, if that’s okay?”

Charlie nodded harder.

Gorsky started his hand at Charlie’s collarbone and wiped down, smearing a generous amount on his chest and trembling abdomen, pointing out the various muscles and what they did along the way. His finger circled Charlie’s navel as he lectured a bit about erogenous zones. His hand left a glistening trail down Charlie’s pubic hair until he halted just above Charlie’s cock.

Gorsky looked up. Charlie gave the smallest of nods.

Gorsky engulfed Charlie’s erection with his hand, lubricant oozing between his fingers in such a stereotypically pornagraphic way it was nearly ridiculous. But it wasn’t. It was so hot it took a moment before Gorsky remembered about the enthusiastic consent.

“May I touch you now?” he asked.

Charlie nodded again. He’d been pressing himself back into the sheets, now he gripped them and squirmed as Gorsky touched him. Gorsky did not know much about technique, but whatever he was doing was clearly the right thing. Charlie’s eyes fluttered and little whimpers came out of his throat as he spit bits of sentences out.

“Oh fuck—yes, that—keep—fuck yeah—no, wait, stop.”

Gorsky’s heart sank.

Charlie grabbed him by the shoulders. “Dude, come _up_ here.”

Of course. What a muppet he’d been. Gorsky settled his body on Charlie’s, careful to put his weight on his knees and elbows to either side. Charlie grabbed enthusiastically like a child with a toy, pressing impatiently upwards to make their flesh meet. He pecked at Gorsky’s lips with his own and gripped his buttocks to urge him down. Gorsky collapsed into his embrace. At that point, for lack of a better term, it turned into a slippery-slidey humpfest. Two men writhing on a cheap cotton comforter in a puddle of lubricant and loving every second of it. Gorsky pistoned his hips, trying to sync his thrusts with Charlie’s in an attempt to minimize future pelvic bruises. Their cocks slithered past one another, against one another, over one another, meeting and parting in an endless dance. Charlie buried his nose in Gorsky’s shoulder and whined. His nipples dragged icy-hot trails down Gorsky’s chest. Gorsky knew he’d  finally come by the urgency of his whimpers, along with the hot splash on his lower abdomen. He fit his cock into the trench formed between Charlie’s thighs and fucked it, cursing his sports-honed stamina. How romantic it would have been to finish together! Finally, he spent himself between Charlie’s legs, thrusting a few more times out of sheer impulse.

Gorsky steered himself through the immediately post-orgasmic fog, enjoying several minutes of blissful near unconsciousness, to find Charlie was petting his shoulder in an oddly motherly way.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Gorsky said back.

They laughed. It wasn’t really funny, but they laughed anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, really wanted to write Gorsky as kinda wimpy because I love skinny smart boys, but Burn is buff y'all. I can't not pay tribute to that bod.


	12. Charlie and his Science Boyfriend

“I’m telling you, the hip-hop arena is more than ready for a blonde girl rapper. I can be the female eminem. Feminem!”

Dennis just shook his head. He and Mac were loading a series of blade-tipped shoes into a duffel bag. Charlie sat at the bar with his knife-glove, idly twisting back and forth on a bar stool.

“Look, Dee, there have been blonde female rappers since rap’s inception. It’s not even a novelty anymore.” Dennis thought a moment. “You should have a gimmick, something to make you more memorable.”

Mac snapped his fingers. “Call yourself bird-girl, wear feathers!”

“What? No!” Dee swept hair of of her face. “No, regional shit is where it’s at. I’ll be the first full-on philly rapper.” she cleared her throat. _“Don’t diss me lak you know me, all y’all beetches can blow me, cracked lak the bell o’ libberdy—”_

“Stop, stop.” Dennis waved his hands like he was clearing a bad smell. “First off, that’s just terrible. You sound like someone doing a bad philly accent. No, actually you sound like Tommy Wiseau doing an impression of someone doing a bad philly accent.”

“Also, Dee, there have been tons of rappers from philly,” Mac said.

Dee scoffed. “What? Name one.”

“Will Smith. Schooly D. Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopez.”

“Okay—”

“DJ Jazzy Jeff,” Charlie offered, spearing a nearby olive with one of his glove blades.

_“Okay, I frickin’ get it!”_ Dee tossed her hair. “So I find another gimmick. Maybe I should, like, go the other direction and be waaaay too clean. Like, so clean it makes mormons uncomfortable.”

Dennis snorted. “I don’t think that would jive with your natural grossness, Dee. I’d really consider going with the bird thing if I were you.”

“Yeah, or play up your height,” Mac said, “tall women make men uncomfortable. You could call yourself Lady Sasquatch.”

Dee growled. “I would rather go bag an actual sasquatch than listen to you assholes.”

Charlie dropped his next olive and threw his hands up. “Do _not_ be bringing the squatch up in here, okay?! I do _not_ wanna get guy-pregnant.”

“That is not a thing—how is that even a thing to you?!” Dennis shouted, kicking off a multilayer argument that bounced around various topics like a ping pong ball.

“—their genes are super close to our genes, okay? Interbreeding is what killed the cavemen off—”

“—this isn’t even sasquatch country, you’re thinking of the west coast—”

“—sperm travels _to_ the egg, and no, it can’t wind up falling into the urethra, that’s not even how it works—”

“—might as well do a Weird Al thing and rap about food—”

Charlie’s watch beeped and he hopped off the bar stool, shedding his glove in the process. “Welp. 3:30.”

The others stopped mid-argument to stare.

“So what if it’s 3:30,” Mac said, “since when do you have a watch? Is this some weird science thing?”

Charlie stretched casually. “It’s Wednesday. Farmer’s market. I’m cooking pigeon.”

The gang made varying noises of disgust.

“Jesus, Charlie, you might as well serve bay water as a beverage.” Dennis grimaced.

“Hey, alls I know is you guys were eating pigeon and liking it before you knew what it was, okay?” Charlie pointed accusingly at them. “Think I'll wrap it in some room-temp bacon, too.”

Dee and Mac groaned in disgust.

“Maybe sprinkle it with a little stinky cheese. Give it that little extra _oomph.”_

Dennis retched slightly.

Charlie stopped at the door, sliding his coat over his shoulder. “You guys are welcome to come with.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Dee said.

As the door swung shut behind him the argument sprouted up again like bermuda grass after a mowing.

“You should do, like, a self-deprecating thing. Rap about how men only sleep with you because you’re the human equivalent of waiting-room magazines.”

_“This is why I'm in therapy, you assholes!”_

Charlie strolled away, whistling contentedly. After a few streets passed, someone drew up beside him, careful to keep pace with his erratic stride. They linked arms.

“You had no trouble extracting yourself?”

“Oh yeah. Best way to make sure they don’t show up at something is to actually invite them.” Charlie stole a kiss. “That student going to narc on you?”

“Seeing that he’s acquired several more Sumatran rat-monkeys, I'd say no,” Gorsky said primly.

“Neat.” Charlie grinned goofily and stole another quick kiss. “I still can’t believe pigeon is a fancy-people food.”

“Fun fact: the first rock doves were imported by European immigrants who wanted to hunt them as game. Now they’re an invasive parasite that edged out other species through the spread of disease.” Gorsky pondered a moment. “There’s an unsubtle metaphor in there somewhere.”

“Do parasites go good with room-temperature bacon?” Charlie waggled his eyebrows.

“Prosciutto. And yes they do.” Gorsky paused to steal a longer kiss, one that slowed their steps and made them veer around obstacles rather than part.

“Shit yeah,” Charlie said once they came up for air, “Imma hit the cheese stall while we’re there.”

“Naturally.” Gorsky sighed, putting on a mock-suffering face. Charlie tugged his arm, pulling him off-center. Gorsky pulled back, dragging the smaller man with him. Back and forth, they wound their way down the sidewalk in a course that wobbled from time to time but always got them exactly where they wanted to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> urgh, I wish I could keep this story up indefinitely, but I have run short of ideas. Like, you have no idea how long it took me to come up with "Feminem." that short.
> 
> My special thanks to those who left such lovely reviews. may all your pairings be endgame, and may this gross cinnamon role we all worship someday find true love in canon.


End file.
